GIFT   OF 
Miss   Ella   Castelhun 


MEMORIAL  VOLUME 


BEING  SELECTIONS 


POETRY  AND  PEOSE 


From  the  Written  Thoughts  of 


COL.  ALONZO  W.  SLAYBACK, 


Including  a  Brief 


BIOGEAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


ST.   LOUIS,  MO.: 

J.   H.  CHAMBERS  &  CO.,  405  North  Third  Street, 
1883. 


i 


J 


*«  ^~W 


TO 

THE    MANY    FRIENDS 

OF 

COLONEL   ALONZO  W,   SLAYBACK, 

ELSEWHERE 

AND      IN       THIS 

COMMUNITY,  WHO   HAVE 

APPEECIATED    HIS     WOETH     AS 

A     MAN     OF    WARM     AND     GENEROUS 

IMPULSES,    A   BROAD-MINDED   CITIZEN,  EVER 

READY   TO    AID    IN    ADVANCING  THE   GENERAL 

INTERESTS,    YET    NEVER    SO    BUSY    AS   TO 

PASS  UNHEEDED  THE   CRY  OF   NEED, 

BUT    KINDLY   MINISTERED   TO 

WANT    AND    DISTRESS, 

WHEREVER   IT 

PLEADED, 

THIS   VOLUME   IS   RESPECTFULLY   DEDICATED. 


ERRATA. 


Page   56,  5th  line  from  top -speeds  not  spreads. 

"       57, 1st  line  from  top  ye  not  we . 

"       57,  3rd  line  from  top the  not  thy. 

"       92,  after  1st  line,  insert ^Brought  them  back  to  dawn." 

"       93,  4th  line  from  bottom adored  not  deplore. 

"     100,  5th  line  from  bottom thine  not  there. 

11     125,  5th  line  from  top Well!  not  Nell! 

"     126,  5th  line  from  top my  lonely  not  her  lovely. 

"     152,  3rd  line  from  top Spurned  not  Scorned. 

"     156,  7th  line  from  top One  not  The. 

"     170, 13th  line  from  top Hood  not  Wood. 

"     193,  after  5th  verse  of  poem,  insert : 

"  But  cheers  arose,  and  found  his  voice, 

The  multitude  expressed  their  choice 

In  tones  so  plain,  that  rake  began 

To  swear  he'd  rule  all  or  none." 

Page  194, 1st  line  2d  verse Like  not  The. 

"     201 ,  8th  line  from  top F not  Z. 

"     203, 1st  line All  mouldy  not  He  moulded. 

"     213,  2nd  line  from  top hues  not  lines. 

"     216,  7th  line  from  bottom .freemen  not  foemen. 

'•     218,  2nd  line  from  top thirsty  bird  not  little  bird. 

"     225,  2nd  line  from  top..... summed  not  summon. 

"     237,  3rd  line  from  top Four  not  For. 


CONTENTS, 


PREFACE 9 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 11 

JUVENILE  POEMS — 

Public  Speech 37 

The  Snow  Battle 38 

Impressions 42 

Valentine— To  M.  F.  B 44 

Lines  Written  In  An  Album 45 

To 46 

Forget-Me-Not ....    47 

To  Miss  Mary  Walton 47 

To  Miss  Bella  McC d 49 

To  Fannie  S —  -  (A  Valentine"* 49 

Un  Sequitur— To  F 50 

ToF 51 

To  Tillie  Russell 54 

To  "Pleasant  Retreat" 55 

From  Orlie. 57 

The  Recollected  Image 58 

The  Nameless— Unnamed 59 

Hatred ' 61 

Man's  Inconstancy 62 

Fate 63 

Moonlight  Thoughts 64 

Friends !  Bah ! 65 

To  My  Books 66 

Choice  for  Life 67 

Lines  (After  Leaving  an  Exhibition) 68 

A  Tress  of  Hair..  70 


A  Stormy  Night  in  the  Court  House 71 

To  Allie  During  Estrangement 73 

The  Old  Grove  (Song) 74 

The  Old  Oak  Tree 75 

To  Orlie 77 

Who  Had  the  Bill  to  Pay? 79 

An  Old  Teacher 80 

To  the  Preachers  (Written  in  an  Album) 81 

Reflections 82 

Written  When  a  Stranger •.  84 

Missouri  River 85 

Straying  Thoughts 86 

Love 87 

Charity 89 

Death  of  a  Little  Girl 91 

A  False  One 92 

Song 93 

To  Allie <>4 

To  A.  W 95 

Memories 96 

Realities— Sober  Realities 98 

To 100 

To  J.  T 101 

Passion 102 

To 103 

To  J 104 

Discontent 104 

A  Valentine  for  Alice 105 

Your  Picture 106 

Expectation 108 

To  Miss  Anna  Stebbs 109 

The  Restless  Foot 110 

The  Recording  Angel Ill 

Paying  the  Preacher 112 

On  Hearing  of  Father  Cary's  Death 114 

To  Allie 115 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS — 

A  Captive  Missourian's  Sigh 117 

A.  Jones 118 

Stray  Thoughts 120 


Our  Flag 121 

To  Allie 121 

The  Missouri  Exile    (Song) 123 

Soldier's  Lament 124 

Letters  From  Home 125 

The   Past 127 

To  Allie 128 

The   Soldier's  Dying  Whisper 130 

Song  for  the  "Missouri'' 131 

Rosy  Wine 132 

Farewell  (To  Cousin  Lou) 133 

The  News  From  Home 135 

Purification 135 

I  Sigh  for  Thee  (Song) 136 

To  Allie 1 38 

The  Burial  of  Shelby's  Flag 139 

Our  Invaders 142 

To  Allie 144 

Not  For  Me 144 

Home  and  Loved  Ones 140 

To  The  Belle  of  Missouri 14G 

To 147 

To  My  Daughter  Susie  149 

Decking  Southern  Soldiers'  Graves 151 

To  Jefferson  Davis  in  Prison 153 

Contrasts  in  City  Life 155 

Our  Dead 157 

STERLING  PRICE 158 

The  Union  Soldier  (F.  P.  B.) .184 

"Umbrae   Noctis" 185 

Good  In  Seeming  Evil 187 

To  Our  Southern  Belles 188 

Consolation 190 

Epitaph  to  be  Placed  on  My  Tomb 191 

Thoughts  of  Heaven 191 

Sad  Story  in  Verse  of  aThe  Dog  and  the  Rake" 192 

Decoration  Day  at  Arlington 194 

Yearnings 197 

Strivings 198 

In  an  Album 199 


The  Best 200 

El  Leon  Pencido  Porel  Hombre 200 

A  Sunday  Evening  Eeverie 202 

Jabez  L.  North 204 

To 205 

Home — Sunday 20G 

Arcana - 207 

To  a  Fifteenth  Amendment  Politician 207 

Lines  (To  an  Imaginary  Being) 208 

Masonic  College,  Lexington,  Mo 209 

Saint  Joseph 210 

The  Raindrop  212 

Beauties  of  the  Skjr 215 

Blair's  First  Speech  in  the  Senate 215 

The  Mountain  Spring 217 

The  Teetotaler's  Ideal  Bibation 218 

A  Pure  Man 220 

The  Adieu  of  a  Graduate 221 

The  Ideal 223 

Imaginary  (Another  Year) 223 

In  Memory  of  Charles  K.  Davis 22G 

A  Coquette 227 

Wish  You  My  Name 228 

Aspiration 229 

To  a  Pretty  Teacher  of  the  French  Language 229 

Too   Swift 231 

Betrayal 232 

To  an  Imaginary  Correspondent 233 

My  Shrine 234 

Indian    Summer 237 

Arthur  Barrett's  Funeral 238 

A  Curiosity  of  Rhyme 239 

The  Dead  Judge 241 

The  Undertaker 243 

The   Departed 244 

Some  Mistaken  Prophecies 244 

Grief 246 

Imaginary 24G 

A  Common  Lot 247 

Unrest  .,  248 


Anticipation 250 

Lake  Minnetonka 251 

To * 252 

Unsatisfied 252 

On  Reading  Faces 253 

To  My  Daughter  Minnette 256 

To  A.  V.  C.  Schenck 257 

To  Darling  Grace : . .  257 

Be  Merry  258 

Fret  Not 258 

Home  Pleasures  (To  Mabel) 259 

De  Mortuis  Nil 259 

There's  Nothing  in  this  Vale  of  Tears 260 

To  a  Learned  Atheist 261 

To  Sleep 262 

Found  in  "  Demosthenes  " .263 

Knowledge 264 

Man,  a  Contradiction 265 

To  My  Daughter  Katie 266 

Speak  Gently 266 

To  John  F.  Darby 267 

What  Pleases  God 352 

Youth 376 

STRAY  THOUGHTS 269 

ADDRESSES— 

Decoration  of  Soldiers'  Graves  (May  30,  1873.) 274 

Womanly  Ambition 292 

Leagued  Lawyers 311 

The  Study  of  Nature 321 

The  Study  of  Art 353 


PREFACE. 


Col.  Slayback's  widow  lias  here  put  into  per- 
manent form  many  of  the  lyrics  which  he  left 
behind ;  not  only  to  do  honor  to  her  husband's 
memory,  but  to  give  pleasure  to  his  many  friends 
who  crave  copies. 

Some  of  these  poems  have  been  printed  before ; 
but  only  a  very  few  were  intended  for  publica- 
tion. They  are  but  the  sparkles  of  his  life, 
translated  into  language — written,  because  the 
feeling  of  the  moment  moved  him  to  catch  the 
fleeting  fancy,  and  fasten  it  in  his  flight. 

Simply, 

"He  sat  him  down,  and  seized  a  pen,  and  traced 
Words"— 

which  open  windows  of  the  soul,  through  which 
one  may  look  into  a  heart  that  moved  from 
deeper  depths  than  the  world  supposed. 

They  date  from  boyhood,  and  run  along  with 
all  the  years  of  his  unfinished  life.  Love  and 


philosophy,  faith  and  whimsy,  the  grave  and  the 
gay,  will  all  be  found  here :  and  they  help  to 
show  the  sunlight  that  shone  upon  his  daily 
path ;  or  to  picture  the  shadows  that  drifted  by 
in  quicker,  or  more  stately  measure,  as  the  clouds 
that  made  them,  gathered  within  the  sphere  of 
his  most  sensitive  nature,  to  settle  for  a  time,  or 
to  lift  away  as  quickly  as  they  came.  To  all 
emotions  he  was  ever  ready  to  respond — and 
these  their  voicings  are  his  antiphons. 

Many  who  knew  him  less  intimately  than  those 
to  whom  he  opened  all  his  heart,  will  be  sur- 
prised to  find  upon  these  pages  a  revelation  of 
great  tenderness  of  spirit ;  while  all  will  recog- 
nize the  frankness  of  the  bold  and  honest  heart, 
which  knew  no  fear.  A  profound  reverence,  as 
well,  displays  itself  for  sacred  things. 

These  memorials  of  the  man  will  be  gladly 
welcomed  by  his  comrades,  and  his  friends,  now 
that  he  has  passed  forever 

"Beyond  the  frost  chain,  and  the  fever, 
Beyond  the  rock  waste,  and  the  river, 
Beyond  the  ever,  and  the  never." 

P.  GK  R. 


10 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


The  writer  responds  with  all  the  warmth  of 
friendship  to  Mrs.  Slayback's  request  to  con- 
tribute a  biographical  sketch  of  her  husband,  to 
be  published  with  his  poems,  and  yet  it  is  a  duty 
not  easily  performed. 

To  undertake  the  analysis  and  portrayal  of  the 
character  of  any  man,  in  a  few  pages,  is  a  vain 
attempt — how  much  more  so  in  the  case  of  one  as 
gifted  as  Alonzo  W.  Slayback.  Only  the  salient 
facts  of  his  life  will  therefore  be  presented ;  as- 
sured that  the  reader  will  generously  appreciate 
the  marked  characteristics  which  made  his  career 
brilliant,  endeared  him  to  his  friends,  and  com- 
manded the  respect  of  his  opponents. 

He  is  pronounced  by  all  who  knew  him  to  have 


11 


been  a  noble  man,  full  of  generous  impulses, 
brilliant  in  intellect,  brave  in  danger,  courageous 
under  trial,  and  tender  as  a  woman  in  his  sym- 
pathies ;  abounding  in  charity,  munificent  in 
gifts  ;  a  true  and  steadfast  friend. 

Alonzo  William  Slayback  was  born  July  4, 
1838,  at  Plum  Grove,  Marion  County,  Mo.,  the 
homestead  of  his  maternal  grandfather.  He  was 
a  direct  descendant,  on  his  mother's  side,  of  the 
Countess  Susanna  Lavillon  and  Bartholemi  Du- 
puy,  Royal  Guardsman  to  Louis  XIV.,  whose 
tragic  persecution,  marvelous  escape  from  France 
and  safe  arrival  on  the  shores  of  Virginia,  are 
familiar  to  the  lover  of  history.  The  revocation 
of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  gave  birth  to  the  romantic 
career  of  those  two  renowned  Huguenots,  Bar- 
tholemi Dupuy  and  Jacques  de  la  Fontaine. 

On  reaching  Virginia,  in  1700,  Bartholemi  Du- 
puy joined  the  Fontaines  and  Trabues,  friends 
who  had  preceded  him,  settling  in  Manakin  Town, 
on  the  banks  of  the  James  river,  where  he  re- 
sided until  his  death.  When  dying,  he  bequeathed 
to  his  eldest  son  Jacques  the  triangular  sword 
which  had  served  him  in  fourteen  battles  in  Flan- 


ders,  and  his  son  at  Guilford  Court-House,  and 
it  still  remains  a  legacy  in  his  family  in  Virginia. 

The  maternal  grandparents  of  Alonzo  W. 
Slayback  were  Jeremiah  A.  Minter  (who  still 
lives,  at  the  age  of  86)  and  Sallie  Minter  (nee 
McDowell),  both  of  Kentucky.  Sallie  McDowell's 
father  was  a  son  of  Colonel  Samuel  McDowell,  an 
officer  of  the  American  army  in  the  war  of  the 
Revolution.  The  McDowells  were  of  Scotch  des- 
cent. His  paternal  great  grandfather,  Solomon 
Slayback,  was  a  soldier  under  Washington — 
one  of  the  Jersey  recruits  from  near  Princeton, 
N.  J.  Originally  the  Slaybacks  were  from  Am- 
sterdam, Holland.  Dr.  Abel  Slayback,  of  Cin- 
cinnati, Ohio,  was  the  son  of  Solomon  Slayback 
and  father  of  Alexander  Lambdin  Slayback,  of 
whom  the  subject  of  this  sketch  was  the  eldest 
child.  Thus  it  is  seen  he  was  descended  from 
patriots  on  both  sides,  and  the  noble  character- 
istics of  his  ancestors  shone  out  grandly  in  him. 

The  father  of  A.  W.  Slayback  was  a  lawyer. 
He  removed  to  Lexington,  Mo.,  and  died  at  the 
early  age  of  thirty  years,  leaving  a  widow  and 
four  children,  three  sons  and  one  daughter. 


13 


The  early  education  of  the  children  was  con- 
ducted by  the  mother.  To  her  judicious  train- 
ing Alonzo  was  greatly  indebted  for  the  true 
development  of  the  native  elements  of  character 
that  made  him  a  peer  among  men. 

Having  completed  his  preparatory  studies,  he 
was  placed  at  the  age  of  ten  in  the  Masonic  Col- 
lege, then  presided  over  by  that  distinguished 
divine,  Rev.  Adiel  Sherwood,  D.  D.,  where  he 
pursued  a  full  collegiate  course,  graduating  June, 
1856,  at  eighteen,  with  the  first  honors  in  a  class 
of  seven.  His  earliest  ambition  was  to  become  a 
lawyer,  and  during  the  last  four  years  of  his 
college  course  his  studies  were  directed  to  this 
end.  After  leaving  college,  he  went  to  St. 
Joseph,  Mo.,  where  he  alternately  taught  school 
and  studied  law.  This  early  struggle,  with  its 
wholesome  experiences,  served  to  bring  out  his 
native  energy,  quicken  his  assiduity,  and  develop 
that  self-reliance  which  was  a  material  factor  in 
lifting  him  to  the  fame  and  position  he  so  justly 
won.  In  September,  1857,  he  was  admitted  to 
practice  by  Judge  Norton  at  St.  Joseph.  Here 
he  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  two  very  estimable 


men,  Bela  M.  Hughes  (with  whom  he  studied 
law)  and  the  Rev.  A.  Y.  C.  Schenck  —  diverse 
in  their  character,  yet  both  noble  and  worthy 
men.  Their  influence  had  much  to  do  in  shap- 
ing the  young  lawyer's  mental  and  moral  nature. 
His  first  law  partner  was  Joseph  P.  Grubb,  now 
judge  of  the  Circuit  Court,  Buchanan  County 
Circuit.  He  was  married  April  14,  1859,  to  Miss 
Alice  A.  Waddell,  daughter  of  Wm.  B.  Waddell, 
of  Lexington. 

In  the  war  between  the  States  he  enlisted  in 
the  Confederate  service.  Born  on  Southern  soil, 
surrounded  from  childhood  with  Southern  in- 
fluences and  habits,  loving  his  native  section 
with  an  ardor  that  outstripped  his  love  of  life, 
he  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment,  but  promptly 
took  the  side  that  to  him  was  right.  In  June, 
1861,  he  joined  the  command  of  Gen.  Sterling 
Price.  In  July,  venturing  in  from  the  camp  to 
see  his  wife,  the  house  was  surrounded  and  he 
was  taken  prisoner,  and  put  on  a  boat  at  the 
river  until  the  fort  at  Masonic  College  was  fin- 
ished, to  which  the  prisoners  were  afterwards  re- 
moved. After  he  had  been  in  prison  three  weeks, 


15 


lie  asked  the  guard  to  accompany  him  to  the 
spring  near  the  fort.  The  prisoner  carried  a 
bucket,  and  the  guard  his  gun.  At  the  spring 
the  guard,  thinking  his  prisoner  was  stooping  to 
get  water,  was  unprepared  for  the  blow  the  young 
man  gave  him  with  the  bucket.  Mr.  Slay  back, 
knowing  every  inch  of  the  ground  from  childhood, 
ran  quickly  down  the  hill,  and  escaped  the  bullets 
that  were  sent  after  him  by  the  astonished  guards. 
Wandering  through  the  woods  during  the  night, 
he  reached  the  house  of  Mrs.  Young  the  next 
morning,  who  gave  him  shoes  and  socks,  and  a 
horse  for  his  journey.  After  the  battle  at  Lex- 
ington in  September,  1861,  he  was  elected  Colonel 
of  the  Missouri  Volunteers,  and  commissioned  by 
Gov.  Caleb  Jackson.  When  General  Price  was 
ordered  into  the  regular  service  of  the  Confed- 
eracy east  of  the  Mississippi  river,  Col.  Slayback 
enlisted  for  "  three  years  or  during  the  war." 

Soon  after  he  was  appointed  Capt.  of  Ordnance 
under  Gen.  Martin  E.  Green. 

At  the  battle  of  Elkhorn  he  was  assigned  the 
command  of  a  regiment  hastily  called  together, 
made  up  partly  of  State  volunteers  and  of  Con- 


federate  troops.  In  this  engagement  Col.  Slay- 
back  and  his  men  did  good  service.  They  were 
then  tranferred  east  of  the  Mississippi  line,  and 
he  was  promoted  for  meritorious  conduct  at 
Corinth  and  Farmington.  He  was  ordered  west 
of  the  Mississippi  again,  to  recruit  with  Col. 
Waldo  P.  Johnson  and  other  officers,  and  to  re- 
port to  Gen.  Hindman,  who  assigned  him  to  duty 
with  the  calvary  at  the  front.  When  starting 
on  Shelby's  raid  into  Missouri,  he  was  taken 
sick  and  left  behind.  During  the  month  of 
November,  1863,  Mrs.  Slayback,  who  was  with 
her  father  at  Lexington,  heard  from  some  of  the 
returned  soldiers  that  her  husband  had  been  left 
by  Shelby's  command  in  Boston  Mountains, 
dying  with  typhoid  fever. 

She  decided  to  leave  home,  friends  and  her 
young  child,  to  go  to  him.  Federal  bayonets, 
untried  dangers,  grave  difficulties,  all  were  pow- 
erless to  alter  the  determination  of  the  wife  to 
reach  her  husband.  Refused  a  permit  to  pass 
the  Federal  lines,  she  was  compelled  to  accept 
"banishment  papers,"  which  she  did  without 
hesitation.  Death  only  could  keep  her  from 


ministering  to  her  husband's  comfort  in  his  sick- 
ness. In  company  with  Mrs.  Isaac  Ruffner,  she 
landed  at  Napoleon,  Arkansas,  and  by  the  kind 
assistance  of  a  gentleman  travelling  the  same 
way,  after  many  hardships,  reached  Washington, 
Ark.,  only  to  find  that  Col.  Slayback  had  been 
removed  to  Shreveport,  La.  Following  on  as 
quickly  as  possible,  Col.  Cundiif  conducted  Mrs. 
Slayback  to  the  hospital,  where  she  found  her 
husband,  unable  to  lift  his  head  from  the  pillow. 
The  soldier  rallied  under  the  inspiration  of  his 
wife's  presence.  He  was  soon  removed  to  Dr. 
Newman's,  in  Caddo  parish,  and  in  three  months 
was  nursed  back  to  life  and  hope. 

In  March,  1864,  Gen.  E.  Kirby  Smith,  Com- 
mander of  the  Trans-Mississippi  Department, 
made  Col.  Slayback  bearer  of  special  dispatches 
to  Richmond,  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  Gen. 
Seddon,  who  commanded  Gen.  Smith  to  assign 
Capt.  Slayback  to  duty  in  the  line.  By  order  of 
Gen.  Smith  he  recruited  a  regiment  of  cavalry 
in  Southeast  Missouri,  of  which  he  was  elected 
Colonel.  This  regiment,  "The  Slayback  Lan- 
cers," was  attached  to  Shelby's  old  brigade,  and 
so  remained  until  the  close  of  the  war. 


18 


When  it  was  known  that  Gen.  Robt.  E.  Lee 
had  surrendered  at  Appomattox,  Gens.  Price  and 
Shelby  decided  to  go  into  Mexico.  Col.  Slay- 
back  joined  them.  The  cause  for  which  he  had 
fought  and  which  he  believed  to  be  just,  the  cause 
he  had  loved  and  so  nobly  defended,  was  lost.  He 
felt  he  had  no  country,  no  home,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  seek  one  in  a  foreign  land.  Forty- 
eight  of  his  old  command  chose  to  share  his  for- 
tunes. They  formed  themselves  into  a  company, 
electing  him  Captain,  and  joined  Gen.  Shelby's 
expedition  into  Mexico. 

The  expedition  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  at  Pie- 
dras  Negras,  in  Mexico,  where,  on  the  4th  of 
July,  1865,  they  buried,  in  the  waters  of  the  swift 
rolling  river,  the  last  Confederate  flag  that  floated 
to  the  breeze. 

Col.  Slay  back,  on  reaching  Lampasas,  Mexico, 
was  again  overtaken  by  a  violent  sickness.  Re- 
covering after  an  illness  of  several  days,  he  pur- 
sued his  way  to  Monterey,  which  he  reached  July 
llth,  where  he  remained  until  Sept.  16th,  when  he 
set  out  for  the  city  of  Mexico  per  diligence, 
stopping  on  his  way  at  San  Luis  Potosi  and 
several  other  minor  towns. 


19 


He  reached  the  city  Oct.  8th.  Here  he  was 
again  taken  sick,  and  lay  for  some  days  at  the 
San  Carlos  Hotel.  Gen.  Thomas  O'Horan,  Pre- 
fect of  the  city  of  Mexico  under  Maximilian, 
hearing  of  the  Colonel's  condition,  kindly  sent 
his  carriage  and  removed  him  to  his  residence, 
thirteen  miles  from  the  city,  where  every  atten- 
tion possible  was  bestowed  on  the  distinguished 
American.  Here  Col.  Slayback  remained  until 
January  23rd,  1866,  enjoying  the  hospitality  of 
this  noble  gentleman,  and  perfecting  himself  in 
Spanish. 

Throughout  his  stay  in  Mexico,  the  Colonel 
kept  a  regular  journal  of  his  life,  in  the  shape 
of  letters  to  his  absent  wife — letters  replete  with 
love  and  devotion,  interspersed  with  vivid  de- 
scriptions of  scenes  and  scenery  through  which 
he  had  passed ;  and  of  facts  and  records  of 
the  war,  comments  on  men  he  had  met,  friends 
he  had  made  and  from  whom  in  sadness  he  had 
parted.  Colonel  Slayback  was  one  of  the  few 
busy  men  who  found  time  to  keep  a  full  diary  of 
his  life. 

Just  here  we  make  a  few  extracts  from  his 


'20 


journal:  "Now  in  the  meantime  I  am  uneasy 
about  Ma.  In  a  New  Orleans  Picayune  of  Jan. 
14th  I  find,  among  the  names  of  passengers  who 
sailed  the  day  before,  '  Mrs.  A.  L.  Slayback,'  on 
board  the  British  steamer  Caroline,  Capt.  Hainby, 
Also  Capt.  Heber  Price,  who  is  at  Carlotta,  the 
colonial  village,  has  received  a  letter  from  Mis- 
ouri  for  his  father  the  General,  which  is  marked 
6  favor  of  Mrs,  Slayback,'  and  mailed  at  Havana. 
I  am  puzzled  over  all  this,  but  cannot  doubt  that 
Ma  is  on  her  way  in  quest  of  me,  and  has  prob- 
ably stopped  at  Havana,  hearing  of  my  improved 
health." 

Leaving  the  city  of  Mexico  Jan.  26th,  he  visited 
the  Confederate  colony  at  Cordova  under  Gens. 
Price  and  Shelby.  Under  date  Feb.  9th  he  says  : 
"  I  stopped  to  see  how  my  American  friends  were 
prospering,  and  remained  at  the  house  of  Gen. 
Shelby,  where  I  feel  very  much  at  home.  Mrs. 
S.  and  the  children  are  here,  and  the  General 
seems  contented  :  is  opening  a  farm,  preparing  to 
plant  coffee  and  sugar,  cotton  and  rice.  The 
plantain  and  banana,  with  their  broad  tropical 
leaves  and  delicious  clusters  of  fruit — the  oranges 


21 


and  lemons,  the  mango  and  lime,  pine-apple  and 
palm — fill  the  air  with  delicious  odors,  and  offer 
to  the  sight  a  constant  variety  of  romantic  and 
interesting  scenery.  As  I  came  along  the  road 
the  last  morning  I  noticed  the  laborers  gathering 
a  red  berry  that  looked  like  cranberries,  and  saw 
them  drying  them  in  the  sun  on  mats — afterwards 
collected  in  dark,  withered  heaps  in  their  huts. 
I  did  not  find  out  until  I  got  here  that  this  berry 
is  the  savory  coffee,  the  beverage  of  the  world. 
I  shall  go  down  to  Yera  Cruz  to-morrow,  and 
hasten  to  Havana  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Vera  Cruz,  Feb.  3.  The  America  packet 
came  in  sight,  within  an  hour  after  we  arrived, 
but  will  not  sail  on  the  5th,  its  regular  day,  and 
shall  have  to  wait  again  for  the  Spanish  steamer, 
which  sails  on  the  6th,  and  then  takes  six  days 
to  go  through  to  Havana.  This  delay  I  submit 
to  with  a  poor  grace,  for  I  have  received  positive 
news  that  Ma  is  at  Havana  awaiting  me;  and 
my  impatience,  in  the  first  place,  to  relieve  her 
anxieties,  and,  secondly,  to  see  her,  knows  no 
bounds.  She  has  sent  me  a  certificate  of  deposit 
for  $150.00,  through  Mr.  C.  Markoe,  a  merchant 


22 


of  this  place.  I  do  not  need  it  and  will  not  use 
it,  though.  I  am  paying  the  expenses  of  Capt. 
Jim  Ward  back  to  the  States.  I  found  him  out 
of  money  at  Cordova,  working  hard  and  hope- 
lessly, and  anxious  to  go  to  his  home,  his  mother 
and  sisters.  I  knew  how  he  felt,  and  placed  my 
purse  at  his  disposal.  But  just  think  of  poor 
Ma,  alone  in  that  strange  land,  waiting— just 
waiting.  I  wonder  often  how  she  manages  to 
pass  the  time.  I  know  she  must  be  unhappy ; 
but  I  expect  she  has  her  Bible  and  her  knitting. 
I  know  too  that  she  must  be  suffering  at  this 
moment  renewed  anxiety  at  my  long  delay." 

Passing  over  the  beautiful  description  of  his 
trip  to  Havana,  which  he  reached  on  Feb.  llth, 
we  will  let  him  tell  of  the  meeting  with  his 
mother.  "  After  a  short  walk  we  reached  Santa 
Isabel  Hotel.  I  looked  impatiently  over  the  list 
of  arrivals,  and  found  that  on  the  17th  of  the 
month  before  was  registered  the  name  simply, 
'  Mrs.  Slay  back.'  Asked  if  she  was  still  there. 
*  Yes.'  Sent  up  my  card,  and  after  waiting  about 
twenty  minutes  in  the  parlor  Ma  came  in,  very 
little  changed  apparently  in  the  five  eventful 


years  which  had  changed  me  so  much.  I  felt 
that  she  had  grown  younger  and  I  so  much  older. 
After  the  '  preliminary  scene,'  and  all  that,  we 
had  a  conversation  to  the  point.  She  urged  me 
to  go  home.  I  did  not  wish  to.  She  persisted 
that  I  must  accompany  her.  I  was  induced  to 
return  with  her,  depending  on  the  promise  that 
you  had  made  to  me,  that  you  and  your  child 
would  return  with  me  to  my  exile  if  I  could  not 
remain  in  that  country."  After  a  rough  passage 
they  reached  JSTew  York  Feb.  18th,  where  his 
mother  parted  from  him,  he  going  to  Washington 
to  receive  a  pardon  from  the  government,  and 
she  returning  to  Missouri. 

July  21,  1866,  Colonel  Slayback  located  in  St. 
Louis,  and  renewed  the  practice  of  law.  His 
success  was  grand  and  continued.  He  stood 
without  a  rival  among  the  young  lawyers  of 
Missouri.  The  records  of  the  various  courts 
show  that  as  a  jury  advocate  he  gained  a  larger 
and  lost  a  smaller  proportion  of  cases  than  any 
other  active  practitioner  at  the  St.  Louis  Bar. 
Out  of  thirty -six  cases  in  1874,  he  appeared  in 
twenty-five  for  defendant,  gained  nineteen,  had 


24 


three  hung  juries,  and  lost  only  three.  In  eleven 
he  appeared  for  plaintiff,  and  gained  all  but  one, 
in  which  he  was  nonsuited.  In  1873,  out  of  more 
than  forty  cases,  he  lost  only  one.  His  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature,  joined  to  his  delicate  tact 
and  pleasing  address,  gave  him  thorough  com- 
mand in  the  examining  and  cross-examining  of 
witnesses.  Persuasive  and  convincing,  as  an 
orator  before  a  jury  he  stood  pre-eminent.  A 
contemporary  says :  "  The  style  of  his  eloquence 
is  peculiar  and  characteristic  :  with  earnest  force 
and  persuasion  he  speaks  to  the  heart  and 
feelings,  as  well  as  to  the  sober  reason  of  his 
hearers.  When  kindling  with  his  subject,  he 
becomes  animated  and  rapid,  his  illustrations 
are  most  felicitous,  and  his  logic  thus  embellished 
rarely  fails  to  please  and  convince.  By  intense 
application  to  his  studies  in  his  profession,  and 
a  varied  miscellaneous  reading,  he  has  not  lost 
his  fondness  for  the  classics,  but  evinces  in  his 
daily  work  the  advantage  which  is  ever  to  be 
derived  from  the  discipline  their  study  gives." 

Col.  Slayback  was  throughout  his.  life  a  con- 
sistent Democrat.    No  consideration  of  emolu- 


ment  could  have  swerved  him  from  his  principles. 
Never  a  time  server  nor  an  office  seeker,  he 
bore  himself  grandly  before  his  fellow  men  with- 
out fear  or  reproach.  He  was  a  delegate  from 
the  Second  Congressional  District  of  Missouri  to 
the  Democratic  Presidential  Convention  of  1876. 
In  the  same  year  he  was  the  Democratic  nominee 
of  that  district  for  Congress,  but  owing  to  an 
unhappy  division  in  the  party  a  Republican  was 
elected  over  the  two  Democratic  candidates. 

Col.  Slayback  served  two  terms  as  first  Vice- 
President  of  the  Bar  Association  of  St.  Louis,  in 
1879-80  and  1880-81.  Twice  he  was  chosen  Pres- 
ident of  the  Law  Library  Association  by  a  large 
majority.  Of  the  second  election  he  said :  "At  the 
annual  meeting  of  the  St.  Louis  Law  Library  As- 
sociation this  evening  I  was  elected  President  by 
a  vote  of  forty- two  out  of  fifty- seven  :  there  being- 
two  or  three  other  candidates  in  the  field,  this  was 
a  very  gratifying  endorsement  of  my  administra- 
tion, during  which  I  have  introduced  some  radi- 
cal changes  in  the  management  of  the  Law 
Library  (wjiich  now  consists  of  over  9,500  vol- 
umes), among  which  was  closing  the  Library  on 


Sundays.  I  favored  this  because  I  thought 
working  lawyers  work  enough  on  the  six  working 
days,  and  ought  to  rest  on  Sunday."  He  was  a 
member  of  the  University  Club,  the  Merchants' 
Exchange,  the  Merchants'  Benevolent  Society, 
and  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  TsTo.  6.  He  was  be- 
sides an  honorary  member  of  the  Knights  of 
St.  Patrick,  and  also  of  the  Elks  Club.  No 
man  in  St.  Louis  was  more  frequently  called  on 
for  a  speech  on  public  occasions.  But  whether 
addressing  a  society,  delivering  a  eulogy  on  the 
patriotic  dead,  standing  before  a  school  of  young 
ladies  inculcating  the  highest  sentiments  of  true 
womanhood,  presiding  at  a  banquet,  pleading 
with  his  countrymen  in  behalf  of  measures  that 
would  lead  the  nation  on  to  prosperity,  or  stand- 
ing before  a  jury  to  urge  the  cause  of  right,  he 
was  ever  the  jaoble  man,  distinguished  for  hon- 
esty of  purpose,  full  of  generous  impulses,  con- 
vincing and  captivating. 

It  would  be  improper  to  omit  in  this  brief 
sketch  the  most  important  index  of  a  man's  char- 
acter— his  faith  in  G-od.  In  the  winter  of  1881, 
Col.  Slayback's  only  son,  a  child  two  years  of  age, 


27 


was  very  sick  for  nine  weeks.  The  illness  of  little 
Alonzo,  together  with  the  too  rapid  motion  of  his 
own  heart,  led  him  to  serious  reflection  on  the 
uncertainty  of  life,  and  the  need  of  settling  the 
question  of  the  future  on  a  basis  that  would  im- 
part peace  to  his  soul;  for  he  had  been  taught  the 
Bible  from  his  earliest  childhood  by  his  Christian 
mother.  He  was  familiar  with  the  great  doc- 
trines of  Christianity,  and  was  a  firm  believer 
in  the  atonement  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  of 
man's  need  of  salvation.  He  had  a  high  rever- 
ence for  the  religion  of  those  who  manifested 
faith  in  God.  He  detested  shams  and  shows ;  and 
with  his  keen  perceptive  faculties,  and  rooted  be- 
lief in  the  basal  doctrines  of  the  evangelical  faith, 
he  could  readily  detect  departures  from  revealed 
truth.  He  knew  error  in  whatever  neological 
form  it  might  present  itself,  and  lie  would  tear 
away  its  specious  covering  and  expose  its  native 
monstrosity.  True  himself,  he  had  no  counte- 
nance for  that  which  is  false. 

In  June  preceding  his  death,  the  question  of 
preparation  for  the  life  to  come  fixed  itself 
in  his  mind.  He  felt  it  to  be  of  the  greatest 


28 


moment  to  Mm,  liable  as  lie  believed  himself 
to  sudden  death,  and  often  he  would  speak 
of  the  matter  to  his  Christian  wife.  Sometimes 
in  tones  of  thoughtful  sadness  he  would  say: 
"  I  have  put  off  too  long  these  great  questions 
that  should  long  ago  have  engaged  my  attention 
and  been  settled  by  me,"  Were  these  feelings  a 
presentiment  of  his  early  death  ? 

Often  he  and  his  wife  would  kneel  together, 
when  in  the  most  humble  and  contrite  manner 
he  would  confess  his  sins,  and  He  who  ever  hears 
the  cry  of  the  longing  soul  sent  comfort  to  his 
anxious  spirit. 

In  August  preceding  his  death,  though  assured 
by  the  physician  that  he  did  not  suffer  with  any 
chronic  trouble  of  the  heart,  but  only  needed 
rest,  he  visited  Denver  in  quest  of  health,  and 
to  see  his  youngest  brother,  residing  in  that  city. 
It  was  a  pleasant  sojourn  to  him.  There  he  met 
relations  and  friends  whom  he  had  not  seen  for 
years — among  them  General  Bela  M.  Hughes,  his 
early  friend  and  adviser. 

Yet  it  seems  that  amid  all  the  happiness  and 
diversion  that  surrounded  him  his  mind  was 
occupied  with  thoughts  of  death. 

29 


Ascending  the  mountain  one  day  with  a  friend 
he  grew  quite  dizzy,  and  turning  spoke  of  it  to 
the  gentleman  beside  him. 

"Do  not  look  back  or  below,  but  upward," 
said  his  friend,  extending  his  hand  to  assist  him. 
These  words  made  a  deep  impression:  "Not 
back  or  below,  but  upward." 

On  his  return  home  he  related  this  little  inci- 
dent to  his  wife,  remarking :  "  I  there  saw  and 
felt  how  sure  and  sweet  it  is  to  trust  in  the 
Savior  who  died  for  me." 

Yet  he  recoiled  from  the  approach  of  death. 
Full  of  life,  surrounded  by  a  happy  household, 
consisting  of  his  devoted  wife  and  six  loving 
children,  with  a  wide  circle  of  true  and  admiring 
friends,  in  the  very  prime  of  manhood,  it  was  but 
natural  he  should  cling  to  an  existence,  so  ra- 
diant with  hope,  so  blessed  with  rich  promise. 

On  the  day  of  his  return  from  the  West,  he 
handed  his  wife  this  little  poem  (which  he  had 
clipped  during  his  absence  from  a  stray  paper), 
remarking  as  he  did  so :  "  These  lines  are  ex- 
pressive of  my  feelings  :" 


30 


A  LITTLE    WHILE. 

A  little  while,  and  then  the  old,  old  story, 
Will  be  my  answer  to  the  fond  word,   Come  ; 

A  little  while,  and  I  shall  see  the  glory 

That  clusters  round  the  bright,  eternal  home. 

A  little  while,  if  I  have  done  my  duty, 

The  morn  of  life  will  break  upon  my  sight ; 

A  little  while,  and  in  fair  robes  of  beauty 
I'll  enter  to  that  world  of  fadeless  light. 

A  little  while  to  dwell  in  pain  and  sorrow, 
And  give  to  others  as  I  would  receive  ; 

And  then  the  coming  of  the  bright  to-morrow 
With  heavenly  balm  that  will  my  soul  relieve. 

A  little  while  to  tread  the  paths  of  sadness, 
And  bear  the  cross  a  loving  Savior  bore ; 

A  little  while,  and  then  the  dawn  of  gladness 
Will  waft  the  crown  to  me  on  Eden's  shore. 

A  little  while  to  feel  the  tear-drops  falling 
O'er  those  we  love,  now  silent  in  decay ; 

A  little  while,  and  angel  voices  calling 

Will  raise  their  dust  to  see  the  charms  of  day. 

A  little  while  to  toil  for  wealth,  ambition, 
And  all  the  joys  a  life  on  earth  can  give ; 

A  little  while,  and  then  the  soul's  condition — 
Oh !  shall  it  be  for  death?  in  life  to  live? 


A  little  while,  and  pangs  of  death  will  banish 
The  name  and  riches  we  have  gained  on  earth ; 

A  little  while,  and  pleasures  all  will  vanish, 
Then  we  shall  count  them  all  of  little  worth. 

A  little  while,  and  o'er  the  silent  river 

The  boatman  pale  will  speed  his  phantom  bark ; 

A  little  while,  and  then  the  great  Life-Giver 
Will  rend  the  veil  of  desolation  dark. 

A  little  while,  and  those  in  peaceful  slumber 
Will  hear  the  call  to  come  and  take  the  land ; 

A  little  while,  and  we  may  join  the  number 
Who  by  the  throne  of  white  forever  stand. 

A  little  while,  and  we  may  see  the  glory, 
The  kingly  grandeur  of  the  One  who  died ; 

A  little  while  to  tell  the  old,  old  story, 

And  then  go  home  to  Christ,  the  Crucified. 

He  was  pleased  to  attend  church  if  he  expected 
to  hear  the  simple  gospel.  He  loved  to  listen  to  a 
sensible  exposition  of  the  scriptures.  The  Sun- 
day after  his  return  from  Denver,  in  company 
with  his  wife  he  attended  St.  John's  Methodist 
church,  and  listened  to  a  sermon  from  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Tudor.  The  subject  was  the  parable  of  the 
sower  and  the  seed,  Matt.  xiii.  The  discourse 
greatly  pleased  and  deeply  affected  him.  Mrs. 


32 


Slayback,  who  had  watched  his  development  in 
the  Christian  life  with  the  sincerest  interest  and 
satisfaction,  urged  him  to  unite  with  some  church, 
assuring  him  she  would  go  with  him  wherever  he 
might  make  choice.  "We  will  join  Mr.  Robert's 
church,"  he  said — the  Holy  Communion  (Epis- 
copal). The  Sunday  previous  to  his  death  he 
said  to  Mrs.  S. :  "  Let  us  go  to  hear  Mr.  Robert 
to-day.  He  is  my  old  friend  and  is  chaplain  of 
our  Lodge."  Mr.  Robert  preached  from  Joshua's 
farewell  to  the  Israelites.  The  sermon,  which  so 
graphically  portrayed  the  earnest  spirit  of  the 
departing  leader,  and  so  forcibly  set  before  the 
listeners  the  necessity  of  forsaking  idols  and 
cleaving  to  the  Lord  our  God,  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  the  Colonel's  mind ;  and  that  evening, 
as  he  was  leaving  the  house  for  a  short  time  to 
see  a  friend,  he  turned  to  his  wife  and  said : 
"  Find  that  chapter  for  me,  and  put  the  book  on 
my  study  table.  I  wish  to  read  it  before  I  go  to 
bed.  I  have  made  idols  of  everything — my  pro- 
fession, my  family,  my  learning,  my  ambition, 
and  I  find  them  all  as  this  '' — striking  the  ashes 
from  the  cigar  he  was  smoking.  On  returning 


33 


he  read  the  chapter,  remarking,  as  he  closed  the 
Bible,  "  How  beautiful  1 " 

The  next  morning,  as  the  husband  and  wife 
knelt  together  for  the  last  time,  he  prayed  ear- 
nestly for  forgiveness.  He  was  enabled  to  yield 
up  all  to  Christ.  Then  he  implored  God's  bless- 
ing on  his  children.  Before  leaving  the  room  he 
said  :  "  Do  not  correct  the  little  ones  ;  only  pray 
with  them." 

The  last  week  of  his  life  was  an  unusually 
busy  one,  but  he  spent  Wednesday  evening  with 
his  family.  Showing  his  books  to  some  of  the 
older  children  he  remarked :  "  These  will  be  a 
legacy  to  you,  my  children,  from  me."  He  idol- 
ized his  children,  especially  his  only  boy,  little 
Alonzo,  the  youngest. 

Friday  morning  he  descended  to  the  breakfast 
room  looking  unusually  well  and  happy. 

The  day  was  full  of  pressing  demands.  He 
kissed  his  wife  "  Good-bye,"  and  mounted  his 
noble  steed,  "Black  Prince;"  then  turning  in 
his  saddle  and  waiving  his  hand  to  his  little  boy, 
Alonzo,  saying,  "  Good-bye,  my  boy,"  he  rode 
rapidly  from  the  front  gate  down  the  street. 


34 


These  were  the  last  words  from  his  lips  to  the 
ear  of  his  loving  wife  and  children.  That  night 
he  was  brought  back  to  the  bosom  of  that  late 
happy  household — dead.  He  had  passed  from 
earth  at  five  o'clock  October  13,  1882. 

The  stricken  wife  and  children  must  ever 
bear  in  mind  this  memorable  day,  that  robbed 
them  of  their  protector  and  support,  leaving 
them  to  mourn  the  loss  for  which  there  is  no  re- 
paration. 

The  mother  who  nurtured  his  early  years,  and 
watched  with  grateful  pride  his  development  into 
a  grand  manhood,  his  two  brothers,  Charles  E. 
Slayback,  of  St.  Louis,  and  Preston  Trabue  Slay- 
back,  of  Denver  city,  and  his  only  sister,  Min- 
nie, the  wife  of  Dr.  Y.  H.  Bond,  of  St.  Louis, 
all  survive  him. 

He  left  six  children;  Susie,  Minnette,  Katie, 
Mabel,  Grace  and  Alonzo. 

His  funeral  was  the  largest  ever  known  in  St. 
Louis.  The  throngs  that  filled  the  old  family 
mansion  and  crowded  its  grounds,  and  blocked 
the  street  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  composed 
of  all  nationalities  and  classes — ministers  of  the 


35 


various  denominations,  judges,  lawyers,  artists, 
teachers,  men  of  business,  clerks,  all  professions 
and  ranks — attested  the  high  esteem  in  which  our 
noble  citizen  was  held.  And  the  earnest  look 
and  tearful  eye  bespoke  their  love  in  language 
far  more  eloquent  than  the  wealth  of  floral 
tribute  that  literally  covered  the  casket  where 
the  dead  friend  lay,  and  sent  from  every  part  of 
the  spacious  parlors  the  silent  incense  of  their 
sweet  perfume. 

For  more  than  three  hours  an  unbroken  line 
of  mourners  filed  past  the  bier,  to  gaze  for  the 
last  time  on  the  still  form  and  pale  face  of  him 
they  had  known  and  loved  in  life,  and  now  sin- 
cerely mourned  in  death. 

The  body  was  escorted  to  its  temporary  resting- 
place  in  Bellefontaine,  and  afterward  removed  to 
Lexington,  the  home  of  his  childhood.  It  now 
reposes  in  Macpelah  cemetery,  beside  that  of  his 
father. 


36 


JUVENILE  POEMS, 


PUBLIC  SPEECH. 

When  bold  young  men,  of  talents  fair, 
Their  earliest  public  speech  prepare, 
They  first  attempt  the  frightful  stage, 
With  "  scarce  expect  one  of  my  age  :  " 
But  I'll  not  tire  you  any  more 
With  what  you  all  have  heard  before. 
Some  two  or  three  weeks  since,  my  teacher 
(Who  surely  is  the  queerest  creature,) 
Gave  me  a  speech,  with  the  condition 
To  learn  it  for  the  exhibition. 
In  all  my  life  I  ne'er  had  spoken, 
And  thought  it  really  was  provoking, 
To  speak  the  first  time  in  my  life 
Before  the  public  and  his  wife. 


37 


But  now,  as  my  great  speech  is  over, 
I  trust,  good  people,  you'll  discover 
That  I'm  a  modest,  youthful  man. 
1854 — MASONIC  COLLEGE,  LEXINGTON,  Mo. 


THE  SNOW  BATTLE. 

The  jeering  taunts  and  bitter  scorn 
Of  fellow- soldiers  sting  his  soul : 
Friendless,  despised,  disdained,  forlorn, 
He  had  the  taunt  of  "  coward  "  worn, 
Till,  desperate  in  his  shame,  he'd  sworn 
The  brand  should  from  his  brow  be  torn, 
Or  death  his  daring  purpose  foil. 

His  heaving  breast  and  flashing  eye 

In  vain  with  firmness  meet  the  throng ; 
In  vain  does  he  the  charge  deny — 
Yain  by  such  means  for  him  to  try 
To  prove  the  whole  a  slanderous  lie, 
Invented^by  some  enemy, 

In  mean,  revengeful,  causeless  wrong. 

Stern  prejudice  and  public  hate 
His  broken  spirit  beareth  down : 


Excited  passion's  raging  heat, 
And  all  that  slanders  can  create, 
Or  falsehood's  fiction  fabricate — 
All,  all,  increase  the  crushing  weight 
Of  changing  fortune's  blasting  frown. 

But  blissful  hope  soon  cheered  his  heart — 

A  bloody  battle  draweth  near : 
Valor  and  joy  alternate  start — 
He  longs  to  act  the  hero's  part, 
And  by  some  act  in  warfare's  art 
Hurl  back  false  slander's  deadening  dart, 
And  prove  his  bosom  knew  no  fear. 

The  puissant  foe,  in  numbers  great, 

O'erbalance  freedom's  feeble  band ; 
And  veterans  in  confused  retreat, 
Wheeling,  recoil  at  rapid  rate  : 
Too  weak  the  thundering  shock  to  meet, 
They  leave  behind  a  brave  defeat — 
But  lo  !  where  does  the  "  coward  "  stand  ? 

The  battle's  rage  is  blazing  high, 

Death  seals  his  victims  all  around  ; 
The  shrieking  bullets  shrilly  fly, 
The  pealing  cannon  rend  the  sky  : 


39 


Hundreds  he  sees  around  him  die, 
All  wallowing  in  their  blood  they  lie, 
Yet  palls  he  not,  nor  yields  his  ground. 

He  stands  when  no  one  else  dares  stay — 
No  friendly  fellow  now  is  nigh ; 

Their  fleeting  feet  are  far  away, 

Escaping  death  and  fire -fierce  fray  ; 

Contented,  when  they'd  lost  the  day, 

To  vow  the  enemy  should  pay 
A  double  price  for  victory. 

But  he,  his  holy  honor  lost, 

Felt  'twas  not  life  to  him  to  live  ; 
He  recked  not,  counted  not  the  cost, 
But  faithfully  maintained  his  post : 
His  single  arm  opposed  the  host, 
Made  many  a  foe  yield  up  the  ghost — 
Should  death  his  character  retrieve. 

Like  lightning  'long  the  line  he  flies, 

Gun  after  gun  in  arm  he  sets — 
To  cannon's  tube  the  match  he  plies  ; 
The  volleys,  sounding  through  the  skies, 


40 


Are  mingled  with  the  dying  cries 
Of  his  advancing  enemies, 

Charging  with  bristling  bayonets. 

They  come  in  march  by  martial  pride, 

Expecting  many  foes  to  find, 
But  find  this  one  alone,  astride 
An  empty  cannon's  brazen  side : 
Their  whole  detachment  he  defied — 
Swore  from  the  field  he  thus  would  ride, 

Or  perish  there  and  stay  behind. 

They  paused — and,  trembling  'neath  his  frown, 
Wrapt  in  mute  admiration  stood  : 

The  men  refuse  to  pull  him  down, 

Or  stain  such  bright,  fair-won  renown. 

Although  a  foe,  his  brow  they  crown 

With  laurel,  and  in  candor  own 
His  was  a  gallant  soldier's  blood. 

They  bore  him  through  the  martial  crowd 

Upon  his  lofty  soldier's  car ; 
With  heart-felt  cheers,  both  long  and  loud, 
His  very  foes  his  deed  applaud, 


41 


As,  whirling  on  his  chariot  prond, 
He  hastens  to  the  free  abode, 
A  favored  prisoner  of  war. 

Exchanged,  he  homeward  turned  with  speed, 

And  to  his  comrades  hastening  sped ; 
Long  served  his  country  at  her  need, 
And,  from  the  tongue  of  slander  freed, 
Enjoyed  her  freedom.    All  agreed 
Soldier  ne'er  boasted  braver  deed, 
None  more  nobly  fought  and  bled. 

LEXINGTON,  Mo.,  Jan.  9,  1855. 


IMPRESSIONS. 

I  saw  a  man,  and  liked  him  well — 
His  heart  seemed  full  of  generous  blood, 
And  honor  seemed  his  acts  to  impel ; 
Thought  I—"  the  image  of  his  God." 

I  knew  him  better — and  the  more 

I  knew  the  more  I  found  him  vile ; 

A  hypocrite,  who  always  wore, 

O'er  fiendish  thoughts,  an  angel's  smile. 


42 


(A  smooth-faced  hypocrite,  who^wore 
A  devil's  heart  and  villain's  smile.) 


I  saw  a  sweet  and  gentle  fair, 
At  least  'twas  so  at  first  she  seemed  ; 
Meekness  seemed  traced  in  every  air, 
And  kindness  from  her  bright  eyes  beamed. 

I  saw  her  oftener,  and  lo  ! 
The  illusion  left  my  wondering  eyes  ; 
Where  smooth  the  words  and  sweet  their  flow, 
Below  a  Tartar's  temper  lies. 

I  saw  her  more,  and  soon  discover 
Her  sweets  are  but  the  arts  of  guile, 
Assumed  to  please  some  brainless  lover, 
Who,  fool-like,  trusts  a  woman's  smile. 

'Tis  thus  where'er  in  life  I  go, 
I  find  my  first  impressions  wrong ; 
The  world  is  a  deceitful  show, 
Women  and  men  a  lying  throng. 


43 


A  man  is  seldom  what  tie  seems, 
A  woman  or  an  actress  never ; 
Better  acquaintance  never  deems 
A  man  the  better  known,  less  clever. 

1855. 


VALENTINE-TO  M.  R  B. 

Though  I  may  wander  far  from  thee, 

And  long  may  not  return, 
My  heart  will  but  more  faithful  be, 

My  love  more  brightly  burn. 
For  thee — and  only  thee — my  soul 

Breathes  forth  each  gentler  thought ; 
My  heart,  hopes,  prospects,  you  control, 

Fair  Mary,  in  thy  heart. 
But  one  bright  image  rules  my  heart, 

One  smile  alone  I  prize, 
That  smile  thou  only  canst  impart 

From  thy  seraphic  eyes. 
One  cherished  object  only  claims 

My  homage  and  my  love, 
And  'neath  her  eyes'  celestial  beams 

My  spirit's  current  moves. 

Feb.  14,  1855. 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  AN  ALBUM, 

FOR  LIZZIE   COBB. 

I  write  not,  Lizzie,  to  invoke 
On  this  remembering  line 
Thy  criticism.    We  o'erlook 
All  faults  at  friendship's  shrine. 

No  languid  lover's  fainting  sigh 
Shall  here  disgust  thine  ear ; 
No  words  of  genius  meet  thine  eye, 
But  friendship  most  sincere. 

"  There  is  a  friend,"  the  wise  man  says, 
"  That  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother ; " 
'Tis  such  a  friend  at  present  prays 
Thou'lt  be  to  him  just  such  another. 

He  does  not  ask  for  worldly  fame, 

But  begs  for  heart-felt  friendship's  blessing ; 

Not  friendship  that  is  but  a  name, 

But  friendship  worth  a  friend's  possessing. 

'Tis  such  that  you  are  fit  to  give, 
And  bless  some  heart  in  that  bestowing  ; 
'Tis  such  my  youth  would  fain  receive, 
And  strengthen  in  my  older  growing. 


Here  forced  to  mingle  with  a  throng 
To  every  feeling  incongenial, 
My  life  in  anguish  drags  along, 
And  is,  like  theirs,  severely  menial. 

Like  every  son  of  adverse  fate, 

I'm  doomed  to  spend  my  days  in  sadness  ; 

And  yet,  to  shun  my  fellows'  hate, 

I'm  forced  to  counterfeit  a  gladness. 

Dec.  25,  1855. 


TO    . 

A  bird  may  touch  the  earth, 
An  angel  leave  the  sky, 
A  queen  forget  her  lofty  birth, 
And  love  an  humble  eye. 

Gems  oft  in  mine  are  found, 
Rare  pearls  hide  'neath  the  sea, 
Bright  sunbeams  kiss  the  ugly  ground, 
Then  why  not  you  kiss  me  ? 

LEXINGTON,  1855. 


FORGET  ME  NOT. 

When  loving  friends  are  loth  to  part, 
And  anguish  sickens  every  thought, 
This  modest  flower  from  heart  to  heart 
Conveys  a  fond  "  Forget-me-not." 

In  terms  as  eloquent  as  tears 
It  asks  what  men  have  always  sought, 
In  absence,  distance,  or  long  years, 
The  heart's  last  wish — "  Forget-me-not." 

And  as  we  leave  you,  gentle  friends, 
If  we  may  wish  so  dear  a  lot, 
With  this  meek  flower  till  memory  ends, 
We  humbly  ask,  "  Forget-me-not." 

LEXINGTON,  1855. 


To  Miss  MARY  WALTON. 

When  sweet,  confiding  friendship  shows 
A  trust  in  one  who  feels  forsaken, 
The  grateful  heart  forever  flows 
With  gratitude  time  cannot  weaken. 


47 


And  when,  fair  lady,  I  return 
Thy  generous  friendship's  trusted  token, 
It  is  not  strange  this  breast  should  burn 
In  gratitude  more  felt  than  spoken. 

Receive  again  this  emblem  then 
Of  confidence,  and  trust  the  token  ; 
And  take  my  pledge  to  be  thy  friend 
Till  life's  last  hour,  unchanged,  unshaken. 

The  slanderer's  tongue,  the  whisperer's  art, 
Will  ne'er  a  moment's  doubt  awaken  ; 
For  faithful  friendship  from  the  heart, 
When  once  bestowed,  is  ne'er  retaken. 

The  wrongs  thy  sex  has  done  this  heart 
Are  henceforth,  for  thy  sake,  forgiven  ; 
For  though  some  act  a  fiendish  part, 
Some  act  like  angels  sent  from  heaven. 

An  ardent  soul  forever  chilled, 
A  faithful  heart  forever  broken, 
Till  life's  temptation's  storm  is  stilled, 
Will  not  forget  thy  soothing  token. 

Jan.  31,  1856. 


To  Miss  BELLA  McC — D. 

Unseen,  yet  loved, 
Admired,  and  yet  unknown  ; 

That  love  approved 
By  thee,  and  thou  alone 

Shalt  be  beloved 
As  my  unrivalled  own. 

Feb.  14,  1856. 


To  FANNIE  S. 

[A    VALENTINE.] 

May  not  a  modest  little  orb 
Sometimes  draw  near  the  sun, 

And  in  its  near  approach  absorb 
A  splendor  not  its  own  ? 

'Tis  thus  thy  smiles,  like  sunbeams  bright, 
Light  up  my  heart,  when  near, 

With  fancied  rays  of  happy  light 
From  thy  more  brilliant  sphere. 

But  now,  the  dear  delusion  past, 
I  see  in  cold  despair 


The  light  I  borrowed  cannot  last, 
Unless  thy  smile  is  near. 

And  since  that  smile  can  ne'er  be  mine, 

But  must  another  bless, 
I  say  farewell — yet,  maid  divine, 

I  own  I  love  no  less. 

Feb.  14,  1856. 


UN  SEQUITUR-TO  F. 

Then  be  that  friend 

Till  life  shall  end, 
And  these  scenes  have  passed, 

Whose  kindness  and 

Affection  blend 
In  union  to  the  last. 

I  cannot  cast 

Thy  image,  fast 
Engraven,  from  my  heart : 

Though  hope  be  past, 

The  constant  breast 
Forbids  love  to  depart. 


50 


I've  said  farewell, 

I've  tried  to  "  quell 
The  impulse  of  my  heart ;  " 

But  all  too  well 

I  love  thee  still — 
Too  late  discerned  thy  art. 

Though  love  is  vain, 

You  shall  remain 
Unrivalled  in  this  breast, 

Till  Death's  dark  reign 

Shall  banish  pain, 
And  grant  the  spirit  rest. 


TO  F . 

You  would  like  to  see  me  in  my  shroud, 
When  cold  death  is  on  my  brow, 

When  my  prostrate  form  in  the  dust  is  bowed, 
'Neath  the  conqueror's  spareless  blow. 

You  would  like  to  see  me  in  my  shroud, 
When  by  pain  and  death  brought  low 

The  warm  soul  is  chilled,  the  heart  once  proud 
Has  forever  ceased  its  flow. 


51 


And  when  crushed  'neath  the  king  of  terrors'  tread 
Is  the  breast  that  once  heaved  high, 

When  Death  has  his  icy  fingers  spread, 
And  has  dulled  the  flashing  eye — 

You  would  then  stand  by  the  dismal  pall, 

And  among  the  heartless  crowd, 
Who  so  oft  the  tear  shed  unfelt  let  fall. 

You  would  see  me  in  my  shroud, 

When  the  gush  of  joy  no  longer  flows 

From  the  fountains  of  the  soul, 
When  the  heart  beats  not,  and  no  longer  glows, 

But  submits  to  death's  control — 

You  would  stand  beside  the  unmourned  bier, 

And  behold  its  ghastly  gloom ; 
And  this  form,  bereft  of  its  living  fire, 

Wrapt  in  vestments  of  the  tomb. 

You  would  see  the  cheek  like  moveless  stone, 

And  the  eye  as  dull  as  lead ; 
You  would  see  the  cage  whence  the  bird  had  flown, 

The  cold  clay  whence  life  had  fled. 

You  would  look  upon  the  abandoned  wreck, 
That  is  stripped  of  all  its  store, 


When  no  hand,  no  power,  its  fate  can  check, 
Or  recall  it  to  the  shore. 

You  would  see  the  remnant  of  what  once 

A  devoted  friend  had  proved ; 
Who  had  listened  wrapt  to  the  tender  tones 

Of  a  voice  too  dearly  loved. 

You  would  see  in  the  windings  of  the  shroud 

A  poor  lifeless,  rigid  form, 
That  once  spurned  false  pride,  and  never  bowed 

In  submission  to  a  worm  : 

Who  had  loved  to  list  in  mute  delight 

To  the  soul  inspiring  song  ; 
Or  in  sought  seclusion  spurned  the  sight 

Of  an  incongenial  throng : 

Who  had  loved  the  charm  retirement  lends 

To  the  soul  that  seeks  repose ; 
Who  was  ever  faithful  to  his  friends, 

And  forgiving  to  his  foes  : 

Who  was  crushed  at  times  with  inward  woe, 

And  to  misery  consigned  ; 
Had  learned  to  love  what  is  most  men's  foe, 

A  melancholy  mind. 


53 


Then  is  this  the  wish  thy  heart  responds 
To  my  soul's  kind  wish  for  thee  ? 

Has  compassion  then  lost  these  soothing  tones 
I  had  hoped  encircled  me  ? 

Though  it  pains  to  think  'twas  asked  by  you, 

Yet  I  hope  'twill  be  allowed ; 
And  since  thus  you  wish,  I  will  wish  it  too— 

May  you  see  me  in  my  shroud. 

And  though  shocked  and  startled  when  I  heard 
Such  a  wish,  so  strangely  given, 

I  am  grateful  for  the  unstudied  word — 
And  may  we  meet  in  heaven. 

Feb.  16,  1856. 


To  TILLIE  RUSSELL. 

The  pleasing  charm  of  young  life's  happy  dream 
Sheds  round  thee  its  enchanting  spell ; 

And  ]avished  pleasures  pour  their  golden  stream, 
Each  sigh,  each  sorrow,  to  dispel. 

What  wealth  or  smiling  fortune  can  bestow, 
To  sweeten  life  or  banish  gloom  ; 


54 


What  constant  love  of  faithful  friends  can  do, 
All  join  to  bless  thy  youthful  bloom. 

Religion  too,  that  hope  which  most  we  prize, 
With  radiant  beauty  is  combined ; 

And  youth's  pure  incense  floats  up  to  the  skies, 
An  offering  from  a  stainless  mind. 

What  more  can  dearest  friendship  wish  for  thee 
I'll  wish  your  cheeks  may  know  no  tears  ; 

And  may  your  life,  in  future's  doubtful  day, 
Be  always  what  it  now  appears. 

Feb.  20,  1856. 


To  "PLEASANT  RETREAT." 

Can  you  tell  why  the  eaglet  abandons  the  height, 
Where,  above  storms  and  dangers,  rocks  guard 

his  young  life, 

And  with  pinion  impetuous  hastens  his  flight, 
To  engage  in  life's  ceaseless  and  dubious  strife  ? 

Though  his  aerie  is  dear  and  its  sunshine  is  bright, 
Yet  far  from  its  scenes  is  the  game  he  must  seek ; 


55 


And  though  genial  the  day,  dark  and  dread  is  the 

night 
Which  englooms  the  abode  on  his  stern  natal  peak. 

Though  it  pains  to  depart,  he  cannot  remain, 

For  activity  urging  impels  him  to  roam  ; 

He  must  pass  through  the  clouds  as  he  spreads  to 

the  plain, 
But  they  hide  from  his  back  glance  the  sight  of 

his  home. 

Siren  u  echoes  "  from  "  fairy"  inhabited  " glens" 
May  allure,  but  they  cannot  induce  him  to  stay ; 
To  Necessity's  mandates  and  Nature's  commands 
Milder  pleasures  must  yield — and  he  hastens  away. 

Can  you  tell  why  he  wanders  ?    'Twere  needless 

to  ask ; 

'Tis  his  destiny's  call,  and  compliant  he  goes  : 
He  has  wings  to  be  strengthened,  then  why  should 

he  bask 
In  the  sunshine,  in  sluggish,  inglorious  repose  ? 

ST.  JOE,  May  24,  1856. 


[Written  upon  Burning  an  Old  Package  of  Letters.] 

FROM  ORLIE. 

Had  some  one  said,  when  first  we  came, 

And  were  with  trembling  fondness  pressed. 

That  time  so  soon  could  cool  thy  flame, 

Then  wildly  raging  in  this  breast — 

I  had  smiled  with  contempt  at  a  thought  of  change, 

And,  with  vows  of  devotion  forever, 

Would  have  sworn  most  sincerely  no  power  could 

estrange 
My  affections  from  Orlie — no  never ! 

But  brief  have  been  the  fleeting  hours, 
And  swiftly,  sadly,  have  they  flown  ; 
And,  like  the  charms  of  withered  flowers, 
That  youthful  love  is  crashed  and  gone. 
As  the  flame  now  obliterates  every  line 
That  was  written  so  sweetly  and  fairly, 
So  the  flame-like  and  withering  breath  of  time 
Has  consumed  my  affection  for  Orlie. 

My  love  was  like  this  changing  fire, 
And  blazed  with  momentary  glow, 


57 


And  was  the  soonest  to  expire 
When  most  I  thought  the  flame  would  grow  ; 
But  instead  of  the  paper  that  lights  this  flame, 
'Twas  my  heart  which  that  fire  has  consumed, 
And  the  ashes  remaining  more  desolate  seem 
In  the  furnace  they  lighted,  then  gloomed. 

July  5,  1856. 


THE  RECOLLECTED  IMAGE. 

The  smile  which  won  my  trusting  heart 
Thy  flowing  tears  may  wash  away  ; 
Chill  monster  Death  may  mock  thy  art, 
And  turn  thy  brilliant  eyes  to  clay. 

Then  think  upon  the  mournful  past, 
And  ponder  well  the  present  hour  ; 
Smiles  will  not  Death  postpone  at  last, 
Appease  his  wrath,  oppose  his  power. 

Vain  as  the  look  you  give  your  glass 
Will  all  your  love  of  conquest  prove, 
When  Death  his  last  decree  shall  pass, 
And  call  you  from  your  "  work  of  love." 


58 


All !  then  remember  in  thy  youth 
That  beauty's  brightness  must  decay, 
And  seek  those  charms  of  sense  and  truth 
Earth  cannot  give,  nor  take  away. 

No  longer  let  thy  pride  of  power 
Provoke  the  vain  desire  of  praise  ; 
Turn  from  the  follies  of  an  hour, 
To  Heaven  your  aspirations  raise. 

That  glass  will  in  a  few  short  years 
Reflect  back  wrinkles  to  thy  gaze, 
And  show  the  trace  of  grief  and  tears 
Where,  self  admired,  thy  smile  now  plays. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Mo.,  1856. 


THE  NAMELESS-UNNAMED. 

I  cannot  breathe  her  buried  name, 

In  vain  my  utterance  tries  ; 

For  hushed  in  self  reproachful  shame 

The  quivering  accent  dies, 

And  memory  says  "  Be  still ! " 


59 


That  name,  alas  !  how  have  I  striven 
Forever  to  forget— forget ! 
To  bury  in  oblivion — 
But,  ah !  it  haunts  me  yet, 
And  starts  the  silent  tear. 

Bound  to  my  heart  as  with  a  chain, 

It  will  not  be  forgot ; 

The  fettered  thought  will  fast  remain, 

But  still— I  speak  it  not : 

I  cannot  breathe  her  name ! 

Oft  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
When  light  nor  sound  are  near, 
Her  image  floats  before  my  sight, 
Her  voice  rings  in  my  ear, 
And  whispers  "  Name  me  not." 

That  name,  regretted  though  it  be, 
Can  wake  no  fondness  now  ; 
I  sorrow  not  to  think  that  she 
Proves  traitress  to  each  vow, 
But  that  she  has  a  name. 

I  breathe  no  curse,  I  raise  a  prayer — 
Heaven  will  decide  her  fate ; 


60 


Another  now  believes  her  fair : 
I  cannot  love,  I  cannot  hate, 
Nor  speak  her  perjured  name ! 

I  wish  a  happy  life  to  him 

Who  now  expects  to  make  his  own 

That  name,  than  which  none  sweeter  seem  ; 

And  may  he  ne'er  have  cause  to  mourn, 

Or  blush  with  shame,  with  anguish  groan, 

Because  of  that  dead  name. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Mo.,  August,  1856. 


HATRED. 

The  narrow  limits  of  expression  fail  me. 

Oh !  that  I  had  new  words !    I  then  could  tell 

All  that  my  soul  intensely  feels  for  thee. 

Bah !     No  words  are  wanting  when  sincerity 

Prompts  the  fond  utterance  of  the  lover's  heart. 

I  do  not  trust ;  I  cannot  then  respect  you ; 

Your  passion  cannot  move  me  till  I  do. 

If  there  is  one  whose  nature  I  despise 

It  is  the  maker  of  a  reckless  vow, 

Who  rashly  swears  allegiance  to-day 

And  seeks  a  novel  sovereign  for  to-morrow. 


Gl 


Of  all  deceits,  inconstant  love  is  worst, 
Most  base,  detestable,  and  unexcused  ; 
It  is  the  cause  of  more  unhappiness 
Than  half  the  vices  that  degrade  mankind. 
The  child  of  vice  may  often  be  reclaimed, 
But  loving  woman,  when  she  once  has  set 
Her  strong  affections  on  a  faithless  man, 
Will  feel  the  sting  within  her  blighted  heart 
Till  disappointment  is  disarmed  in  death. 

1856. 


MAN'S  INCONSTANCY. 

Wild  as  the  ocean  when  tossed  by  the  storm, 
And  wild  as  the  mountain  crag's  desolate  form, 
Are  the  fickle  and  whimsical  notions  of  man. 
Their  pride  and  approval  alike  I  disdain  ; 
Their  love  and  their  hatred,  affection  and  scorn, 
Are  fleeting  and  changing  as  hues  of  the  morn ; 
As  the  waters  of  ocean,  run  high  and  sink  low, 
As  they  alter  and  roll,  as  they  ebb  and  they  flow ; 
They  but  mimic  the  acts  of  the  popular  mind, 
Undoing  in  rage  what  in  prudence  they  bind. 

1856. 


62 


FATE. 

Why  in  depths  of  dark  despairing 
Should  a  soul  of  fire  and  daring 
Sink  beneath  the  wearing,  tearing, 

Torture  of  a  slow  decay ; 
And,  irresolute,  surrender. 
In  a  moment  sad  and  tender, 
All  that  years  of  tears  could  render 

Dearest  to  a  child  of  clay  ? 

Yet  I  feel  my  life  declining, 
And  my  chafing  soul  repining, 
Clouds  without  a  silver  lining 

Bringing  on  the  night  too  soon  ; 
While  the  ghosts  of  midnight  track  me, 
And  malignantly  attack  me  ; 
While  my  sun  without,  an  acme, 

Sets  and  leaves  behind  no  moon. 

Thus  to  live  unknown  to  glory, 
And  to  die  without  a  story, 
Prematurely  worn  and  hoary, 
Old  in  anguish — not  in  years, 


1856. 


Is  the  lot  of  millions,  sleeping 
In  the  doomed,  repulsive  keeping 
Of  oblivion,  dread  and  sweeping, 
As  an  ocean  formed  of  tears. 

Tears,  vain  tears ;  how  unavailing 
To  sustain  a  spirit  failing, 
Emblems  only  of  the  quailing 

That  the  proud  heart  loathes  to  feel : 
Then  let  Fate  her  fierce  darts  shiver 
'Gainst  my  soul — it  shall  not  quiver ; 
Nay !  the  darkness  of  Death's  river 

Cannot  fix  an  endless  seal. 


MOONLIGHT  THOUGHTS/ 

A  trembling  moonlight  bathes  the  hills, 

And  tranquil  is  the  air  ; 
A  calm  serenity  distils 

An  incense  sweet  to  prayer. 

As  on  the  shady  wings  of  night 
Each  moment  floats  away, 


64 


What  heart  beneath  yon  peaceful  light 
Can  bid  one  moment  stay  ? 

Or  can  man's  power  e'er  check  the  flight 

Of  moonbeams  o'er  the  sea  ? 
Or  can  the  eye  which  sees  yon  light 

Resist  its  beauteous  ray  ? 

.N"o  more  can  heart  restrain  its  love, 

When  kindness,  smooth  as  moonlit  hills, 

And  gentle  as  affection's  glow, 
Sheds  its  soft  radiance  on  our  ills. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Oct.,  1856. 


[Written    under  a  Cloud.] 

FRIENDS!  BAH! 

The  tear  may  start,  the  heart  may  ache, 
To  feel  that  friendship  is  a  dream  ; 
But  ah !  when  trusted  friends  forsake, 
The  soul  deceived  recoils  from  them. 

The  earth  knows  not  a  friend  sincere, 
The  tool  most  useful  is  best  friend  ; 


65 


Of  those  we  have  the  most  to  fear 
Who  most  to  friendship's  ties  pretend. 

But  still  we  foolishly  believe, 
Trusting,  though  finding  all  untrue  ; 
We  curse  the  old  friends  who  deceive, 
And  seek  the  fickle  smiles  of  new. 

The  tear  may  start,  the  heart  may  ache, 
'  Tis  useless — men  will  still  deceive ; 
Those  most  obliged  will  first  forsake, 
And  deepest  their  rank  venom  leave. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Oct.  15,  1856. 


To  MY  BOOKS. 

When  blind  Fortune  frowned, 

And  destiny  bound 
My  boyhood  with  fetters  of  want, 

My  affections  were  turned 

From  a  world  that  I  spurned, 
To  the  wisdom  your  pages  implant. 

Sweet  soothers  ye  are 
Of  my  sorrow  and  care, 


And  relief  to  my  aching  heart  bring, 

To  brighten  each  way, 

That  Hope  can  display, 
And  soften  adversity's  sting. 

Ye  bade  me  despise 

The  hypocrite's  guise, 
And  tear  off  false  dignity's  mask, 

With  treasures  refined, 

To  store  up  the  mind, 
And  find  trun  delight  in  the  task. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Dec.,  1856. 


CHOICE  FOR  LIFE. 

It  is  not  Beauty,  full  of  angel  smiles, 

That  e'er  can  tempt  my  steadfast  heart  to  love ; 

Nor  weak  Affection,  with  its  well  meant  wiles, 
Nor  Love  as  changeless  as  the  constant  dove. 

'  Tis  not  Devotion,  breathing  ceaseless  prayer, 
Nor  sweet  Repentance,  bathed  in  teary  showers  ; 

Nor  Intellect,  embracing,  like  the  air, 

The  mighty  planet  and  the  humblest  flowers. 


G7 


5  Tis  not  a  Voice  whose  rich,  melodious  tone 
Can  cause  the  heart  to  swell  with  joy  or  woe, 

Nor  Splendor,  circled  with  its  gem-set  zone, 
Nor  Hearts  of  Pity,  melting  toward  each  foe. 

None  of  these  can  e'er  my  love  allure, 
I  would  a  nobler,  better  object  find ; 

Unbound  and  free,  my  heart  must  still  endure, 
Until  I  meet  with  all  of  these  combined. 

ST.  JOE,  April  14,  1857. 


LINES : 

Written  after  leaving  an  Exhibition  at  Presbj'terian  Church, 
Jan.  23,  1857. 

High  Heaven !  is  this  a  Christian  land  ? 

Where  men  that  God  adore 
Who  formed  them  with  His  mighty  hand, 

And  lent  the  mind  its  power  ? 

Then  why  did  that  irreverent  throng, 

When  in  the  temple  pressed, 
Their  stay  one  moment  not  prolong, 

Until  they  could  be  blessed  ? 


Christ's  servant  stood  with  hand  upraised, 

But  rude  and  unimpressed 
They  would  not  hear  the  prayer  he  raised, 

Unwilling  to  be  blessed. 

A  pagan  would  have  knelt  in  awe, 

His  idol  being  addressed  ; 
They  scorn  God's  grace  and  slight  his  law, 

Despising  to  be  blessed. 

Beware  !  O  slaves  of  gold,  beware  ! 

Lest  you  incur  God's  frown, 
And  urge,  too  late,  your  idle  prayer 

Up  to  his  awe-wrapt  throne. 

Oh !  if  you  can  believe  our  world 

Unruled  by  God  on  high, 
Let  not  your  children  too  be  hurled 

Where  torments  never  die. 

Then  trample  not  religious  truth 

Before  their  watchful  eyes  ; 
Such  acts  far  more  corrupt  our  youth 

Than  those  the  fiends  devise. 


A  TRESS  OF  HAIR. 

[To  Allie  during  Estrangement.] 

A  tress  of  ring-like  dark-brown  hair, 
Cherished  as  all  that's  left  of  thee, 
I  hide  more  fondly  than  Corsair 
Secretes  his  treasure  by  the  sea. 
Its  place  is  whisperless  and  lone, 
No  eye  but  mine  the  relic  sees ; 
I  love  it,  for  it  is  my  own, 
'  Twas  given  me  ere  I  failed  to  please. 

'  Twas  given  me  by  a  gentle  hand, 

That  locked  in  mine  was  ever  warm  ; 

Each  finger  was  a  magic  wand, 

Too  well  their  witching  touch  could  charm 

Still  as  I  bend  in  lonely  woe, 

Where  none  my  glistering  eye  can  see, 

A  tear  unmans  me — be  it  so — 

'  Tis  not  the  first  I've  shed  for  thee  : 

Communion  lost  and  sundered  far, 
The  world's  wild  madness  fills  my  brain  ; 
I  watch  the  twinkling  of  the  star 
For  some  fond  token,  but  in  vain. 


70 


Silent  as  diamond's  flash,  its  ray 

Once  seemed  to  dance  through  space,  and  rest 

Bright  on  the  keepsake,  then  away— 

I  shrieked !  it  seemed  to  pierce  my  breast. 

'Twas  only  fancy's  dark  despair 
Shrouding  my  heart.     I  looked  to  see 
The  lock  again.    It  still  was  there — 
Still  beautiful,  serene,  unchanged — 
Not  unlike  thee  when  last  we  met. 
I  hate  to  think  of  thee  estranged ; 
I,  though  forgotten,  can't  forget 
You  loved  me  then — or  said  you  did : 
This  clustering  tress  is  token  yet 
Of  how  the  changeable  are  changed, 
While  constant  bosoms  throb  and  fret 
With  one  true  thought,  the  rest  deranged. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  1857. 


A  STORMY  NIGHT  IN  THE  COURT  HOUSE. 

Loud  blows  the  wind,  and  as  it  fiercely  shrieks 
My  heart  gives  back  its  wailing ;  for  each  sigh, 
Each  sob,  it  utters  finds  an  echo  deep 


Within  my  heart,  which  now  is  not  less  sad 
Than  the  wild  melody  of  this  rude  storm. 
The  rattling  shutters  but  ejaculate 
Expressions  of  the  cruel  shock  without, 
While  the  sepulchral  echo  from  within, 
Resounding  through  these  halls  in  dismal  woe, 
And  yet  unheard  by  all  save  my  lone  ear, 
Are  but  the  symbols  of  those  frequent  ills, 
Those  keen  distresses,  whose  lugubrious  tale 
Is  only  heard  within  the  secret  soul, 
Where  their  sad  echo  left,  they're  hushed  forever. 
Now  raging  wild,  now  melting  tenderly, 
The  notes  of  piteous  woe,  succeeding  rapidly 
To  the  harsh  growling  of  the  tempest's  roar, 
As  if  to  make  atonement  for  the  ire 
Its  sweeping  swell  displayed.     '  Tis  thus  in  life, 
The  things  befalling  us  oft  seem  endowed 
With  a  self-soothing  power,  curing  themselves. 
There  was  a  blast  unsoftened,  fiercely  rude, 
And  now  there's  pleasure  in  its  following  strain. 
'  Tis  thus  in  life  we  often  find  delight, 
When  naught  but  pain  and  sorrow  were  presaged. 
Then  pour,  ye  furious  winds,  with  all  your  furious 
might,  % 


72 


Your  streaming  strength  against  this  building  huge. 

And  turn  its  empty  chambers  and  its  halls 

Into  an  instrument  on  which  you  play, 

Discoursing  music  of  so  rare  a  kind 

That  it  will  instruct  as  well  as  please  the  ear. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Mo.,  May  13,  1857. 


To  ALLIE  DURING  ESTRANGEMENT. 

Has  deepening  twlight's  dusky  hue 
No  lone  retreat  for  thought  and  you  ? 
Tell  me,  is  there  some  quiet  spot 
Where  Orlie  sighs  that  I  am  not  ? 
Is  your  heart  colder  when,  alone, 
You  think  of  one  loved,  lost,  and  gone  ? 
When  on  the  stars  of  night  you  gaze, 
And  think  of  me  and  other  da^s  ? 
~No  star  that  twinkles  pale  at  night 
But  glimmers  o'er  my  paler  sight, 
And  in  compassion's  mood  serene 
I  stray  and  stand  where  we  have  been. 
Thy  voice  I  fancy  near  me  still, 
But  as  I  bend  to  catch  its  thrill 


73 


'The  phantom  tone  eludes  the  reach 
Of  strained  attention's  painful  stretch, 
And  chilling  shudders  o'er  me  swim, 
O'erwhelming  e'en  my  nighty  whim. 
Oh !  why  will  not  an  echo  roll 
From  absent  lips  to  cheer  the  soul  ? 
Is  all  forgotten  and  ignored, 
That  love  once  gave,  when  love  implored  ? 
Deep  night  its  realms  of  distant  orlbs 
Arrays  in  anguish,  that  absorbs 
The  buoyant  thoughts  that  boyhood  blessed, 
And  manhood's  sterner  soul  distressed. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  1857. 


THE  OLD  GROVE. 

(SONG). 

5  Tis  sweet  to  think  of  those  we  love 

When  they  are  far  away, 
But  sweeter  still  that  dear  old  grove 
Where  we  were  used  to  play. 
The  balmy  breeze 
Swept  through  the  trees, 
Lulling  or  soothing  care  ; 


And  in  that  grove 

Were  smiles  of  love 

We've  never  found  elsewhere. 

The  cruel  axe,  with  savage  blow, 
Has  here  and  there  destroyed 

Some  lofty  tops,  where  last  the  glow 
Of  evening  sunshine  toyed. 
The  balmy  breeze,  etc.,  etc. 

1857. 


THE  OLD  OAK  TREE. 

To  Edward  T.  Shields,  of  Jackson  County,  Mo. 

Where  Wea's  humbled,  withering  race 
Late  kissed  their  conqueror's  silver  mace, 
And  dwell  to  imitate  the  ways 

Of  civilizing  art, 
Within  the  prairie's  loneliness, 
Hard  by  a  tangled  wilderness, 
A  tree  in  native  loneliness, 

There  grows  apart. 

Not  tall,  but  spreading  far  and  wide, 
With  branches  matched  on  every  side, 


Decked  like  a  blooming  forest  bride, 

With  gorgeous  foliage ; 
She  stands  in  summer's  sweet  array, 
And  tempts  the  coolest  breeze  to  stay 
And  kiss  her  ere  it  hastes  away, 

To  execute  its  embassage. 

Beneath  that  tree's  benignant  shade 
A  band  of  weary  travelers  strayed, 
And,  ceasing  from  their  labors,  made 

A  long  sought  resting  place. 
Blessed  friendship  sweetened  their  repose, 
Around  them  bloomed  the  scented  rose, 
And  not  one  thought  of  bitter  woes 

Disturbed  their  quiet  peace. 

Their  hearts  were  cheerful,  brave  and  true, 
And  well  meant  wit  responsive  flew, 
Congenial  souls  united  grew, 

Beneath  that  noble  tree. 
Brave  hearts  need  not  the  ties  of  blood 
To  join  them  in  fond  brotherhood, 
A  kindred  link  binds  all  the  good 

In  one  great  family. 


Time  scatters  changes  all  around, 
And  sunders  ties  that  love  has  bound ; 
Their  foot-prints  now  are  dimly  found 

About  that  loved  tree's  base : 
And  still  its  drooping  branches  sigh 
To  every  breeze  that  passes  by. 
Because  they  are  no  longer  nigh 

With  words  of  grateful  praise. 

But  memory  clings  to  that  old  tree, 
Connecting  it  with  joy  and  thee, 
The  souvenir  let  it  ever  be, 

Of  friendship  tried  and  true. 
Eemote  be  death's  detested  call, 
Be  time  indulgent  to  us  all, 
And  gently  may  its  changes  fall 

As  Wea's  summer  dew. 

Aug.,  1857. 


To  ORLIE. 

I  loved  thee  once,  but  now  the  flame 
Has  perished  like  a  blaze  ; 


No  more  can  Hope  arouse  the  love 

I  felt  in  other  days. 
The  past  seems  covered  with  a  veil, 

The  future  with  a  cloud ; 
And  truth  declares  no  heart  can  yield 

Devotion,  and  be  proud. 
Oh  !  love  will  be  repressed  by  pride, 

And  pride  brooks  not  a  frown  ; 
Love  floats  not  with  so  light  a  bark, 

But  anger  weights  it  down. 
Repentance  may  desire  again 

What  love  at  h'rst  enjoyed ; 
But  love  can  never  flourish  more 

Where  it  has  been  destroyed. 
The  heart  is  never  offered  up 

But  once  in  sacrifice ; 
And  if  'tis  not  accepted  then, 

Its  tone  of  fervor  dies. 
But  if  accepted  with  a  smile, 

And  then  cast  idly  by, 
Pride  will  not  let  the  tender  gift 

Slighted  and  bleeding  lie. 
But  Pride  the  cherished  offering  takes 

In  stern  yet  kindly  care ; 


Pours  soothing  balm  within  each  wound, 
And  stays  each  springing  tear. 

Your  kindness  cannot  please  me  now, 
I  heed  not  now  your  praise  ; 

No  more  can  hope  revive  the  love 
I  felt  in  other  days. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Mo.,  Aug.  8,  1857. 


WHO  HAD  THE  BILL  To  PAY? 

Ah  !  it  was  very  nice  indeed 

To  travel  through  the  State, 
And  visit  friends  who  love  to  feed 

A  friendly  candidate : 
How  nice  too  did  the  lager  beer 

Drink  with  them  every  day ; 
But  tell  us,  gentle  Bobby  dear, 

Who  had  the  bill  to  pay? 

Bob  thinks  the  railroad  through  our  State 

Will  tell  of  him  so  well, 
That  'twill  his  name  perpetuate, 

When  he  beyond  shall  dwell : 


Perhaps  he  built  it,  but  we  fear 

Posterity  will  say, 
"  Pray  tell  us,  gentle  Bobby  dear, 

Who  had  the  bill  to  pay  ? " 

Bob  thought  a  seat  in  senate  good, 

The  pay  was  very  fair ; 
But  still,  he  thought  he  rather  would 

Prefer  the  Governor's  chair : 
But  now,  if  in  the  doubtful  race 

Sweet  Bob  has  lost  the  day, 
I  wonder  who  in  such  a  case 

Will  have  the  bill  to  pay. 

Aug.  14,   1857. 


AN  OLD  TEACHER. 

Year  after  year,  with  patient  care, 
My  Cameron  guided  me  to  truth, 
And  taught  me  by  his  precepts  rare 
To  curb  the  follies  of  my  youth. 

Profoundly  skilled  in  buried  lore, 
And  gifted  with  a  taste  refined, 
'Twas  his  to  point,  mine  to  explore, 
The  pathway  to  improve  the  mind. 


80 


And  now  I  see  him  leave  his  Greek, 
And  go  to  teaching  whining  girls 
The  proper  way  to  smile  and  speak, 
And  show  with  grace  their  shining  curls. 

Aug.  15,  1857. 


To  THE  PREACHERS. 

Written  in  an  Album. 

To  the  preachers  and  teachers  your  book  is  devoted, 
That  their  names  may  here  live  when  their  deeds 

are  forgot : 
Asked,  "What  sort  of  a  man  by  this  name  was 

denoted  ? " 
You  will  say,  "  Ah !  he  lived,  taught  or  preached, 

and  is  not." 

Let  the  learned  or  the  pious  then  write  their  names 

here, 

But  no  pedant  or  hypocrite  sully  these  pages  ; 
And  may  all  most  worthy  your  friendships  appear, 
When  in  judgment  aroused  from  the  slumbers  of 

ages. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  1857. 


REFLECTIONS. 

Written  when  about  to  leave  the  Court  House. 

Sadly,  sadly  now, 
Burns  the  midnight  light, 

And  my  aching  brow 
Shudders  at  the  sight. 

Loudly,  loudly,  roar 
Midnight  breezes  round, 

But  my  soul  no  more 
Saddens  at  the  sound. 

Swiftly,  swiftly,  life 
Rushes  to  the  tomb, 

Through  the  lists  of  strife, 
Through  the  halls  of  gloom. 

Wildly,  wildly,  storms 
Beat  across  my  path ; 

Fearful  in  their  forms, 
Dreadful  in  their  wrath. 

Sternly,  sternly,  pride 
Conquers  every  fear. 


Fates  !  ye  are  defied ! 
Strike !  ye  Furies,  here ! 

Yainly,  vainly,  fall 
Strokes  of  bitter  fate ; 

Earth  has  lost  its  gall, 
Feeling  left  its  seat. 

Hours  of  woe  may  come, 
And  restore  again 

To  their  former  home 
Anguish,  tears  and  pain. 

Gladly,  gladly,  soul, 
Take  thy  transient  ease ; 

Soon  the  bell  may  toll, 
Death  may  break  thy  peace, 

Changes  may  await 
That  you  little  reck, 

Sorrow  weave  a  net 
Slyly  round  thy  neck. 

But  with  changing  life 
Stop  not  to  deplore  ; 

Arm  thee  for  the  strife, 
Sigh  and  pine  no  more. 


Let  each  varied  scene 
Thou  art  doomed  to  pass 

Make  thee  more  serene, 
And  refine  thy  dross. 

So  thou  yet  may'st  learn 
To  smile  when  some  would  weep, 

Darts  of  fate  to  spurn, 
Peace  to  nurse  and  keep. 


ST.  JOSEPH,  Mo.,  Oct.,  1857. 


WRITTEN  WHEN  A  STRANGER. 

Nobody  cares  for  me, 

And  I  for  nobody  care ; 
We  meet  in  the  street, 

With  a  curious  stare  ; 
But  no  one  will  greet 

The  stranger  there ; 
Not  even  deceit 

Has  a  bow  to  spare ; 
Nor  lowliness  one  conge. 


84 


Nobody  smiles  on  me, 

And  I  on  nobody  smile ; 
Alone  in  a  crowd 

Of  both  virtue  and  guile, 
The  high  and  the  proud, 

The  low  and  the  vile, 
Seem  alike  endowed 

With  strangeness,  while 
I  know  not  who  they  may  be. 


ST.  JOSEPH,  1857. 


MISSOURI  RIVER. 

Written  while  watching  the  waves  from  the  stern  of  a 
steamboat  on  the  Missouri  River.    1857. 

Foaming  waters,  madly  leaping, 

Fling  their  waves  upon  the  shore ; 
And  they  murmur,  ever  keeping 

Timely  music  in  their  roar  : 
And  the  tireless  wheel  is  plying, 

Like  the  bounding  pulse  of  life, 
While,  in  distant  calmness  dying, 

Waves  are  melting  from  the  strife. 


Ceaseless  streams  of  panting  bubbles 

Come  escaping  from  the  wheel, 
Like  the  constant  little  troubles 

Fate  has  destined  life  to  feel ; 
While  we  watch  their  fretful  races 

Up  and  down  upon  the  waves, 
Others  come  to  take  their  places, 

And  they  sink  into  their  graves. 

So  in  life  our  fierce  contentions 

Into  tumults  oft  arise, 
While  successive  new  dissensions 

Chase  the  former  from  our  eyes  : 
Gently  smothered  by  the  distance 

Facts  will  lose  their  great  intents  ; 
Memory  vainly  makes  resistance 

To  the  current  of  events. 


STRAYING  THOUGHTS. 

Oh !  my  thoughts  are  straying,  straying, 
Straying  faster  than  the  cobwebs 
That  are  floating  on  the  breezes, 
Hazy  breezes  of  the  air : 


For  the  winter  is  approaching, 
And  the  changing  hues  of  autumn, 
Saddened  by  the  chilling  breezes, 
Softened  by  the  bluish  hazes, 
Fill  the  soul  with  vague  and  dreaming 
Love  for  all  the  good  and  fair. 
The  sun  appearing  drowsy, 
Shining  like  a  sleeping  beauty, 
Tinges  everything  with  mutable 
And  fleeting  floods  of  beauty  ; 
And  the  trees  are  gently  sighing 
O'er  the  ruin  of  their  foliage, 
Like  a  faded  fair,  lamenting 
That  her  tresses,  once  so  pretty, 
So  luxuriant,  and  so  winning, 
Are  becoming  gray  and  rusty. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Nov.,  1857. 


LOVE. 

Oh !  love  is  madness — blind  and  rash  and  wild 
Stubborn  as  age,  and  foolish  as  a  child. 
It  conquers  sense, 
And  sways  the  heart ; 


87 


Hates  innocence, 

And  studies  art ; 

Destroys  the  object  it  at  first  adores — 
Enjoys,  abandons,  and  at  last  deplores. 

'Tis  said  he  holds  the  world  in  abject  rule  : 
If  so,  the  earth  is  monarched  by  a  fool ; 
For  if  we  trust 

What  we  are  told, 
Love  turns  to  lust 

As  it  grows  old — 

Becomes  as  selfish  as  when  young  'twas  free : 
Is  such  a  monster  clothed  with  purity  ? 

Anger  and  hatred,  love  and  pride  and  fear, 
Are  passions  suited  to  the  humble  sphere 
Of  fallen  man's 

Degraded  state, 
And  no  such  plans 

To  elevate 

Our  notions  of  our  poor  estate  and  birth 
Can  make  a  beast,  born  wingless,  fly  from  earth, 

It  is  the  destiny  of  birds  to  soar  on  high  ; 

Of  men,  to  eat,  think,  talk,  drink,  walk  and  die. 


What  mockery  then 

It  is  to  say 
That  mortal  man 

Can  passion  pay, 

Of  such  a  noble  and  unselfish  kind 
As  ne'er  was  known,  except  in  God's  own  mind. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Dec.  1,  1857. 


CHARITY, 

Men  love  to  magnify  their  own  good  deeds, 
But  still  they  listen  when  self-interest  pleads. 
The  orphan's  tear, 

The  orphan's  cry, 
They  see  and  hear 
Without  a  sigh, 

Unless  the  piteous,  painful  tear  and  tone 
Become  by  natural  sympathy  their  own. 

Instruction,  impulse,  springs  to  cure  the  wound 
Of  the  poor  wretch  who  weeds  upon  the  ground. 
Our  frantic  pride, 
So  stern  and  cold, 


Is  laid  aside 

When  we  behold 
A  sufferer  unexpectedly  disclose 
A  tale  of  sorrow,  shadowing  forth  his  woes. 

But  let  the  soul  have  time  to  think  again 
Of  its  dear  self,  its  pleasure  and  its  pain  ; 
And  we  forget 

The  other's  pain, 
Caress  and  pet 

Ourselves  again. 

'Tis  strange,  with  its  great  popularity, 
This  Charity  should  be  a  rarity. 

A  generous  reputation  once  obtained, 
Cost  what  it  may,  must  ever  be  maintained. 
A  liberal  man 

Is  called  to  give 
The  most  he  can 

"While  he  may  live  ; 

And  when  he  dies,  the  cries  he  has  relieved 
Revive  again  from  men  sincerely  grieved. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Dec.  1,  1857. 


DEATH  OF  A  LITTLE  GIRL 
ON  A  WINTER'S  NIGHT. 

The  swinging  signs  are  squeaking 

Down  the  dismal  street, 
And  the  midnight  ghost  is  shrieking 

Through  the  rattling  sleet ; 
Sleeping  hearts  are  beating, 

Heeding  not  the  storm, 
While  weeping  eyes  are  meeting 

Round  a  little  lifeless  form. 

They  watched  its  little  heaving 

Eke  the  dreary  night, 
Till  they  felt  a  faint  misgiving, 

All  might  not  be  right. 
Gently  drawing  nearer, 

Silent  in  their  fear ; 
Each  moment  made  her  dearer, 

As  her  end  seemed  drawing  near. 

But  dreary,  dismal  midnight 
Passed,  and  left  them  there, 

Watching  for  the  daylight, 
Watching  in  despair. 


When  the  light  returning 

Their  feeble  lamp  was  burning, 
But  the  fire  of  life  was  gone. 
ST.  JOE,  Dec.,  1857. 


A  FALSE  ONE. 

False  one,  if  I  could  only  mourn 

For  thee  as  for  the  dead, 
My  tears  could  be  the  better  borne 

Than  those  which  now  are  shed. 

But  still  to  know  that  still  you  live, 

And  still  to  feel  you  gone, 
Is  like  the  sleepless  throbs  we  give 

For  sleep  at  sleepless  dawn. 

How  have  you  sworn  you  would  not  wish 

Away  from  him  you  love 
To  live  one  hour ;  and  yet — so  'tis — 

The  serpent  draws  the  dove. 

An  angel  could  not  break  the  spell 
That  demons,  gazed  at,  weave, 


Nor  sorrows  torture  souls  in  hell 
More  fiercely  than  I  grieve. 

Yet  why  lament  a  fallen  tree, 
A  blighted  flower,  or  wall, 

Since  time  will  bring  us  soon  to  see 
The  ruin  of  them  all. 

Thus  perish  joys  most  fairly  bright, 
Thus  fleet  our  cares  away  ; 

Until  resigned  we  greet  the  night 
With  glad  farewells  to  day. 

1857. 


SONG. 

The  dreams  of  my  boyhood  are  over, 

Thine  image  is  fading  away  ; 
And  fate  has  forever  bereft  me 

Of  one  who  could  never  betray. 
The  madness  with  which  I  deplore  thee, 

But  adds  to  the  sorrows  I  bear  ; 
And  the  sadness  with  which  I  deplore  thee, 

Only  serves  to  embitter  despair. 


Oh !  say,  can  thy  spirit  draw  near  me, 

To  receive  the  devotion  I  bring  ? 
And  wilt  thon,  invisible,  hear  me, 

Or  breathe  a  response  while  I  sing  ? 
If  thou  wilt  but  whisper  me  softly 

Some  word  as  a  token  from  thee, 
I'll  cherish  thy  memory  fondly, 

Till  Death  shall  restore  me  to  thee. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Jan.,  1858. 


To  ALLIE. 

Tho'  my  fond  expectations  of  joy  I  must  sever, 
My  visions  of  bliss  can  be  never  estranged, 

For  beauty,  alas !  is  as  charming  as  ever, 

And  mad  Cupid's  winning  temptation  unchanged. 

When  the  red  tide  of  life  shall  turn  cold  in  my  heart, 
And  death  on  my  pale  dewy  brow  shall  abide, 

Oh,  say !  will  a  tear  of  regret  ever  start 

To  thine  eye,  as  you  think  of  the  lover  that  died? 

Will  you  think,  with  one  sigh,  of  his  name  and  his 
love, 


The  affection  that  prompted  devotion  to  thee  ? 
Or  bury  forever  the  scenes  of  the  grove, 
"When  you  heard  the  bird  music  of  sunset  with  me? 

Will  you  hush  in  the  depths  of  the  unfathomed  heart 
The  moonlight  of  love,  and  the  hills  of  our  stay  ? 

Or  sigh  that  the  passion  of  youth  may  depart, 
As  the  moonlight  succeeds  the  strong  light  of  the 
day? 

And  oh !  will  you  whisper  a  prayer  up  to  heaven, 
Imploring  its  mercy  to  smile  on  a  fate 

As  dark  as  the  storm  by  the  mountain  blast  driven, 
And  bitter  as  scorn  in  a  man  that  we  hate  ? 

ST.  JOSEPH,  1858. 


TO  A.  W. 

There's  a  tear  hidden  deep  in  the  eye, 
There's  a  sigh  buried  deep  in  the  breast ; 

But  in  secret  concealment  the  former  must  lie, 
And  the  other  be  ever  suppressed. 

There's  a  woe  we  must  suffer  and  brook, 
That  is  sacred  to  one  single  heart ; 


Yet  the  sufferer  will  never  betray  by  a  look 
The  distress  which  he  scorns  to  impart. 

And  he  struggles  and  strives  to  conceal 

The  destroying  infection  within ; 
Bitter  smiles  gaily  cover  the  pain  he  must  feel, 

But  his  spirit  still  smothers  it  in. 

As  a  flower  externally  sound 

Gives  no  sign  of  its  inward  decay, 

But  still  scatters  its  sweet-scented  odor  around, 
While  the  summer  winds  waft  it  away. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  1858. 


MEMORIES. 

Lip  answers  lip  in  love ; 

In  friendship,  hand  to  hand  : 
Affection  fosters  only  face  to  face ; 

Mind  answers  mind,  and  intellects  expand : 
Thought  leaps  to  thought,  as  bolts  electric  move, 
Scorning  the  span  of  intervening  space, 
Flash  through  dark  clouds,  and  then  unseen  embrace. 


So  does  it  seem  when  here, 

In  darkness  and  alone, 
I  think  of  one  whom  once  I  loved  so  well  ; 

When  fancy  brings  distinctly  back  the  tone 
That  stirred  within  me,  all  my  heart  held  dear, 
And  filled  my  being  with  a  magic  spell 
Soft  as  the  music  of  a  silver  bell ; 
Then  do  I  think  that  she  in  some  way  hovers  by, 

And  still  congenial  understands  my  mood, 
Guesses  my  wish  and  gives  back  sigh  for  sigh, 

Joins  me  in  sorrow,  laughs  with  me  in  glee, 
Grasps  at  my  arms,  and  cheers  me  on  to  good ; 
Woman  in  form — with  angel  traits  imbued. 

But  when  the  enchantment  ends, 

My  solitude  returns — 
A  solitude  that  in  the  busy  crowd 

Haunts  me  as  well  as  where  my  taper  burns 
Lonely  and  dim ;  and  when  my  spirit  bends 
A  glance  within  I  almost  shriek  aloud : 
Patience  !  by  suffering  we  grow  strong  and  proud. 

April,  1858. 


97 


REALITIES— SOBER  REALITIES. 

My  soul  is  sad,  for  earth  is  but  a  scene 

Of  disappointed  sorrow  and  chagrin  : 

Each  way  I  look  for  comfort  I  behold 

New  plagues  arise,  and  new  distress  unfold. 

There  was  a  time  when  upward  to  the  skies 

Ambition's  fire  impelled  fond  hope  to  rise. 

Inflated  hope,  that  conquered  every  fear, 

Then  promised  fame  and  wealth  and  bright  career, 

Adorned  the  future  with  each  jewel  bright, 

That  fancy  taught  could  give  me  true  delight. 

But  life  is  rushing  to  the  horrid  tomb, 

With  every  shadow,  every  dismal  gloom, 

As  deeply  clouded,  and  as  full  of  pain, 

As  the  dark  moments  that  oppressed  me  then  ; 

And  all  the  joys  and  hopes,  I  then  believed 

Ambition  prompted,  and  my  heart  received, 

Have  one  by  one  forsaken  my  cold  breast, 

And  left  a  bosom  careworn  and  depressed. 

Life  is  too  real,  common  place,  and  plain, 

Too  full  of  plans  and  petty  aims  of  gain, 

Too  full  of  tests  for  crumbling  ropes  of  sand, 

Too  full  of  spirits,  struggling  to  command, 


98 


Too  full  of  selfish  ends  on  every  side, 

To  foil  high  purpose  and  aspiring  pride, 

For  every  man  who  sighs  in  youth  for  fame, 

To  leave  the  world  the  record  of  his  name. 

Oblivion,  dread  oblivion,  waits  for  all, 

Pride's  hopeless  prison,  fate's  eternal  thrall. 

Yet  oh !  how  bitter  to  repress  each  sigh, 

That  pleads  for  glory  that  never  can  die. 

How  sad  the  first  conviction  of  the  heart, 

"When  life's  experience  bids  young  hope  depart ; 

When  we  are  taught  no  more  to  expect  the  joy 

That  charms  the  soul  of  the  aspiring  boy. 

Life  has  no  pleasure,  pleasure  no  delight, 

That  can  compensate  young  ambition's  flight. 

True,  we  are  taught  these  lofty  thoughts  must  turn, 

But  'tis  a  lesson  we  are  loath  to  learn. 

Does  nature's  impulse  then  so  vainly  burn, 

As  to  infuse  a  passion  we  should  spurn, 

Instilling  lessons  we  would  fain  unlearn, 

Point  to  a  path  that  none  can  dare  to  explore 

Without  due  sorrows  and  afflictions  sore, 

In  which  each  robe  by  Nature's  children  worn 

Is  stained  by  weeds  or  by  the  bramble  torn  ? 


To  wander  gaily  o'er  the  green  hill's  side, 
Free  as  the  wind  that  stirs  the  troubled  tide, 
Is  better  than  o'er  smoothest  roads  to  ride, 
With  cruel  Nature  for  a  senseless  guide, 

1858. 


To 

The  chandeliers  of  porcelain  and  gold, 
That  fling  their  flood  of  purple  glory  down 
Upon  the  wondrous  beauty  of  thy  head, 
Impart  no  splendor  not  already  thine ; 
And  yet  this  magic  light,  that  seems  to  close 
About  thee  as  if  conscious  of  embrace, 
Reveals  a  loveliness  that  dares  the  search. 
The  marble  goddess  in  thy  gallery, 
The  alabaster  huntress  in  thy  hall, 
But  prove  thy  fairness,  fairer  than  the  best 
And  purest  models  artists  have  combined  ; 
And  there  is  living  beauty — theirs  its  type. 
Thou  hast  grand  instruments  of  music  too, 
That  seem  attuned  to  match  thy  matchless  voice, 
A  voice  whose  simplest  tone  is  sweeter  than 
The  classic  harmony  of  master  hands. 

1858. 


100 


TO  I.  T — . 

In  reply  to  "  Sweet  Memories  of  Thee." 

When  sad  thoughts  are  holding 

My  heart  in  their  sway, 
And  remembrance  is  unfolding 

Scenes  of  joy  now  passed  away, 
Mid  the  sweetest  and  the  fairest 

Of  all  that  is  dear, 
Thy  voice  is  the  rarest 

To  soothe  me  and  cheer. 

It  enters  my  chamber 

When  I  am  alone, 
Like  memory's  echo, 

In  its  soft  silver  tone  ; 
And  sweetly  it  thrills  me, 

As  it  calms  me  to  rest ; 
No  frowning  world  chills  me — 

Thoughts  of  thee  make  me  blest. 

When  my  fond  heart  is  bounding 

In  devotion  to  thee, 
Oft  light  tongues  are  sounding 

Thy  praises  to  me  ; 


101 


But  oh !  they  describe  thee 
Far  less  than  thou  art, 

In  sweetness  and  beauty. 
Enshrined  in  my  heart. 

When  thy  loved  voice  is  singing 

Far  away  from  mine  ear, 
And  "  sweet  memory  "  is  bringing 

Fond  images  near, 
Then  let  me  be  near  thee, 

Our  souls  mingling  free, 
Till  time  shall  endear  me, 

My  angel,  to  thee. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Aug.  19,  1858. 


PASSION. 

O,  Passion  !  ere  Repentance  knew 
The  pangs  indulgence  brought  to  view, 
My  bosom  throbbed  in  fond  delight 
When  Beauty's  vision  blessed  my  sight ; 
But  now  I've  learned  to  look  with  terror, 
For  fear  t'will  lead  me  into  error  ; 


102 


And  when  a  winning  smil^  I  see, 
I  teach  my  feet  to  turn  and  flee, 
Before  contrition's  poisoned  dart 
Can  fix  its  venom  in  my  heart. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Aug.  24,  1858. 


TO    . 

Imbued  with  charms  by  Beauty  only  given, 
And  charms  that  Beauty's  Queen  could  not  decree ; 

The  Power  that  formed   thee   looked    around   in 

Heaven- 
Beheld  His  favorite,  and  then  modeled  thee. 

Thy  wisdom,  goodness,  intellectual  grace, 
Thy  dazzling  beauty  and  thy  form  divine, 

Impart  celestial  splendor  to  thy  face, 
Yet  make  thy  face  the  least  attraction  thine. 

Imagination  is  the  charrn  of  song, 

And  songs  of  thee  are  mere  detraction  vain, 

For  real  attributes  to  thee  belong, 
Exceeding  all  in  Fancy's  fevered  brain. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  1858. 


103 


To  J — . 

Time  may  teach,  me  to  forget  thee ; 

I  wish  it  could  : 
In  painful  pleasure  I  regret  thee. 

Repentance  should 
Ere  this,  in  earnest,  have  beset  thee, 

And  made  thee  good. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Sept.  1,  1858. 


DISCONTENT. 

Silver  hinges  on  the  doors, 
Yelvet  carpets  on  the  floors, 
Gilded  framing  in  the  halls, 
And  Rubens  glowing  on  the  walls  ; 
Horses,  carriages  and  wine, 
Costliest  dress,  and  jewels  fine, 
All  that  the  world  regards  with  awe, 
Illumed  the  mansion  at  Gildaw  : 
But  all  the  chandeliers  of  Rome 
Could  not  subdue  the  splendid  gloom 
That  Fleta  felt  within  her  heart. 
Looking  at  all  this  wealth  of  art, 


104 


She  paused,  and  shuddered  at  her  glass 
"  Mistress  of  all,"  said  she.     "Alas ! 
How  hateful  now  is  all  this  pelf ; 
I  am  not  mistress  of  myself.  " 
And  tears  both  hot  and  bitter  fell 
Upon  a  statue's  pedestal — 
Marble  statue — rare  and  cold, 
And  worth  its  very  weight  in  gold. 

1859. 


A  VALENTINE  FOR  ALICE. 

Thy  heart,  the  home  of  truth  and  love, 

Thy  bosom  free  from  guile, 
Thy  face  illumed  from  above, 

Thy  sweet  angelic  smile, 
Are  dearer  than  the  world  to  me, 

Or  hope's  ecstatic  joys, 
And  bind  my  heart  as  true  to  thee 

As  chains  that  Death  employs. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Mo.,  Feb.  14,  1859. 


105 


YOUR  PICTURE. 

The  faulty  image  of  thy  charms, 

Imperfect  though  it  be, 
Could  it  but  give  thee  to  my  arms, 

Or  change  itself  to  thee  ; 
Or  could  I  in  these  colors  trace 

Thy  changing  glance  and  smile, 
That  glance  would  every  care  erase, 

And  every  woe  beguile. 
Afar  from  me,  beloved,  caressed, 

In  thy  more  happy  lot, 
This  image  is  a  token  blest 

That  I  am  not  forgot. 
And  still  I  cling  with  ardent  grasp 

To  aught  resembling  thee  ; 
The  little  left  to  me  I  clasp — 

It  shall  not  part  from  me. 
And  oft  I  think  these  pictured  eyes 

Assume  a  living  light ; 
Yet  still  the  fleeting  fancy  dies — 

Thy  absence  is  my  night. 
These  eyes  could  weep  when  I  have  wept, 

Could  sparkle  when  I  smiled, 


106 


With,  sweet  reproving  gaze  have  kept 
My  thoughts  from  running  wild. 

And  if  my  conversation  strayed 
Upon  unpleasant  ground, 

How  often  would  a  gathering  shade 
My  rattling  tongue  confound. 


But  deep  within  my  heart  portrayed 

Thine  image  is  engraved, 
In  fancy's  purest  hues  arrayed, 

In  seas  of  beauty  bathed  ; 
And  when  temptation  woos  my  heart 

Toward  things  you  do  not  love, 
One  glance  at  this  will  make  me  start 

To  see  thy  frown  reprove. 
And  still  thy  gentleness  and  art 

My  sweet  reclaimers  prove  ; 
Ah !  should  that  impulse  fade  away, 

Life  has  no  vision  left 
That  can  restore  the  cherished  rays 

Of  which  I'll  be  bereft. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Feb.  14,  1859.] 


107 


EXPECTATION. 

There  is  a  rapture  in  the  spirit,  with  an  inkling  of 
despair, 

When  fond  moments  are  approaching,  and  our 
hopes  enkindle  fear, 

When  the  heart's  sweet  concord  waketh  to  soft 
music  from  a  dream, 

And  a  note  of  harshness  breaketh,  like  a  loved  one's 
painful  dream. 

There  are  times  when  expectation,  as  it  vergeth 
toward  relief, 

Brings  a  tinge  of  blissful  ecstasy,  with  vague  and 
fitful  grief ; 

When  we  know  not,  and  can  tell  not,  what  is  strug- 
gling for  control, 

Yet  we  know  a  conflict  rageth  on  the  battlefield  of 
soul. 

When  the  blessedness  of  hoping  is  embittered  by 
a  sigh, 

And  the  sickness  of  a  hope  deferred  of  luster  robs 
the  eye, 

Oh !  the  waking,  and  the  breaking,  and  the  near- 
ness of  a  joy, 

Is  more  painful  than  endurance  when  a  thousand 
ills  annoy. 


108 


To  Miss  ANNA  STEBBS. 

To  cheer  the  sad, 
To  help  the  weak, 

To  make  hearts  glad, 
To  soothe  the  sick, 
To  woo  the  sinful  from  their  way, 
By  good  example's  quiet  ray, 
And  plant  the  proper  impulse  well 
In  youthful  bosom's  gentle  swell, 
Is  doing  good,  far  better  than 
The  noisy  pulpit's  fruitless  plan. 

And  oh  !  how  sweet 
It  is  to  share 

Companionship 

With  one  so  rare, 

Whose  constant  thought,  from  morn  till  night, 
Is  giving  other  hearts  delight ; 
While  deep  within  the  soul's  hid  dell 
There  slumbers  not  a  selfish  spell, 
But  joys  resigned,  and  buried  hopes, 
Like  children's  graves  upon  the  slope. 

The  grassy  mead 
That  greets  the  eye, 


109 


May  not  impede 

The  breeze-like  sigh — 
Yet  she  who  can  relinquish  self, 
And  show  no  more  than  grass  clad  vale, 
Griefs  whispered  not  to  passing  gale, 
Such  souls  their  Maker's  work  adorn, 
To  nobleness  and  glory  born. 

And  nobler  still, 
And  dearer  too, 

Who  sheds  good  will 

Like  evening  dew, 
And  wisely  speaks  a  fitting  word, 
When  '  tis  needed  and  best  heard. 
Think  not  a  life  thus  fitly  spent 
E'er  fails  of  heaven's  reward  when  sent, 
Compensatory  gifts  to  shed 
In  blessings  on  Miss  Anna's  head. 

June,  1859. 


THE  RESTLESS  FOOT. 

I  am  one  of  the  "  tribe  of  the  restless  foot," 
That  ever  has  sighed  for  repose ; 


110 


Yet  clinging  to  hope  for  a  promise  of  good, 
No  actual  rest  my  heart  ever  knows. 
My  head,  my  hands  and  my  feet  have  their  woes, 
Their  woes  of  unrest,  and  perpetual  throes 
Of  action  and  motion  without  any  close, 

Of  turmoil  and  tempest  and  ceaseless  pursuit. 

Pursuit,  and  of  what  ?  Alas !  could  I  tell, 
Far  better  and  happier  could  I  abide  ; 

But  something  is  urging  me  on  like  a  spell, 
And  passion  is  goading,  and  so  too  is  pride  ; 
And  yet  when  my  judgment  is  called  to  decide 
What  it  is  that  impels  me,  or  what  will  betide, 
Mute  vacancy  pauses,  and  nothing  beside 

Gives  a  watchword  to  soothe  me  or  quell. 

November,  1860. 


THE  RECORDING  ANGEL. 

High  o'er  the  golden  gates  of  heaven 
An  angel  sits  upon  a  throne  of  pearl, 
To  whom  the  gift  of  purity  and  power 
Is  delegated  from  the  throne  of  God, 
To  purge  the  secrets  of  the  darkest  heart 


111 


That  seeks  to  screen  its  sinful  thought  from  sight ; 
And  when  from  earth's  dark  grave-bespangled  sod 
The  forms  that  Death  has  clasped  are  yielded  free, 
That  angel  scans  the  record  which  in  life 
Each  pilgrim  has  in  deeds  historic  stamped : 
Each  thought  becomes  an  act !  each  wish  a  deed  ! 
As  lasting  as  the  stroke  of  felon  famed, 
It  is  the  heart  that  is  dissected  there — 
And,  written  on  a  magic  tablet  plain, 
The  every  thought  is  infinitely  traced 
In  characters  that  only  can  be  read 
By  this  one  Angel  in  all  God's  Domain. 
There  read,  and  passed  upon,  the  soul  is  saved 
Or  hurled  to  Death  eternal,  but  the  germ 
Of  its  destruction,  or  its  bliss,  is  known 
To  none  but  God,  the  angel  and  itself ! 

Nov.  1860. 


PAYING  THE  PREACHER. 

Written  and  enclosed  with  checks  for  $10.00  each  to  Rev.  E.  S. 
Dulin  and  F.  G.  Tackier. 

Every  creed  has  agreed  on  one  question  at  least, 

Though  in  forms  they  essentially  differ  ; 
Apostles  and  bishops,  and  parson  and  priest, 


112 


On  this  point  do  not  vary  a  wafer : 
From  Paul  to  Pope  Mno,  from  Calvin  to  Bates, 

In  unison  Spurgeon  and  Beecher, 
No  matter  how  much  they  dispute  about  rates, 

Don't  object  to  our  paying  the  preacher. 

ME.  FACKLER'S  KEPLY  TO  ABOVE. 

"  It  may  be  true,  as  you  have  said, 

That  parsons,  priests  and  prelates, 
5  Tho'  differing  greatly  in  their  creed, 

Agree  about  the  rates  : 
Essential  points  they  may  divide, 

And  hold  on  high  dispute ; 
On  minor  matters  they  decide 

To  take  a  common  chute. 

But  then  do  not  forget,  my  friend, 

That  they  stand  not  alone ; 
Their  principle  may  well  defend 

More  interests  than  one  : 
There  is  a  rule  of  recompense — 

When  lawyers  all  agree, 
A  client's  guilt  or  innocence 

Depends  upon  the  fee." 

Dec.  25th  1860. 


113 


ON  HEARING  OF  FATHER  GARY'S  DEATH. 

These  hills,  where  once  the  grass  was  green, 

Are  bare  beneath  the  dusty  tread 
Of  crowds,  who  now  profane  the  scene 

Of  hopes  by-gone,  and  friendships  fled. 
The  sylvan  bower,  the  peaceful  shade, 

No  longer  smile  when  summer  comes ; 
And  where  we  once  in  quiet  strayed 

The  roaring  wheel  discordant  hums. 
When  sunset,  in  its  grander  whims, 

Reminds  me  of  the  wasted  day  ; 
The  tear  that  in  the  twlight  swims 

Is  not  for  Time,  but  heart's  decay. 
For  those  who  once  were  part  myself, 

United  so  were  we  in  love, 
No  longer  share  with  me  the  shelf 

'N"eath  trees  that  stood  within  the  grove  ; 
But  one  by  one,  like  hopes  unblest, 

Their  souls'  departure  shocks  my  sense, 
Till,  like  the  Bard,  I  sigh  for  rest, 

And  pray  for  wings  to  bear  me  hence. 
Trees,  flowers,  the  grass,  and  some  who  ranged 

These  once  fair  hills  with  me  are  gone ! 


114 


These  ruined  Mils !  I  too  am  changed  ; 

Their  death  is  token  of  my  own. 
Green  velvet  mantle,  lost  and  dead, 

Destroyed  by  the  tumultuous  crowd, 
Is  emblem  fit  of  visions  fled, 

And  youth's  grand  aims,  no  longer  proud. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  March  16,  1861. 


.To  ALLIE. 

Truly  fond,  and  fondly  true, 

We  have  lived  and  loved  for  years ; 
You  for  me,  and  I  for  you, 

Sharing  smiles  and  sharing  tears. 

Guardian  angel,  charm  of  life, 
Gem  of  faithfulness  and  truth  ; 

Sole  to  soothe  my  bosom's  strife, 
Sole  beloved,  my  Bride  of  youth. 

Bride  of  youth,  and  bride  of  age, 
Mother  of  my  winning  child  ; 

Blessings  on  thee,  darling  cage 
Of  my  fancies,  dark  and  wild ! 


115 


Calmed  by  thee,  and  soothed  to  rest, 
Bathe  my  temples  with  thy  breath ; 

Press  me  as  you  always  pressed, 
And  forget  me  not  in  death. 

When  remembered  by  my  love, 
Tho'  the  world  heed  not  my  end, 

I  will  feel  no  envy  move 

Me  to  sigh  for  fame  or  friend. 
ST.  JOE,  May  19,  1861. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS, 


A  CAPTIVE  MISSOURIAN'S  SIGH. 

[Steamboat  Augustus  McDonald,  Lexington  Landing]. 

When  twilight's  cool  shadows  bedarken  the  wave 
That  oft  in  my  childhood  enveloped  my  limbs, 

They  seem  but  the  curtains  of  crape  round  the  grave 
Where  my  hopes  are  all  buried  with  memory's 
whims. 

'  Twas  here  I  once  dreamed  that  the  air  was  so  pure. 
And  the  soil  was  so  sacred,  that  none  dare  invade  ; 

But  alas !  on  the  spot  where  my  youth  was  secure, 
The  tools  of  a  Tyrant  their  stronghold  have  made ! 

Alas  !  for  my  country,  my  peace  and  my  pride, 
The  land  of  my  birth  is  all  bleeding  and  torn  ; 

And  dark  o'er  the  waters  her  children  are  tied, 
And  chafe  in  captivity,  sad  and  forlorn. 

July  25,  1861. 


117 


A.  JONES. 

Prisoner  of  War,  Lexington,  Mo. 

Our  friend,  A.  JONES,  well  known  to  fame, 

Throughout  the  land  and  nation, 
As  one  whose  fame  could  always  claim 

His  neighbors'  admiration, 
Had  heard  it  said,  by  some  great  man 

Of  spotless  reputation, 
That  Blair  and  Lincoln  had  a  plan 

Of  endless  subjugation. 

Supposing  that  a  citizen 

Of  his  grade  and  pretensions 
"Would  be  the  first  to  suffer,  when 

This  scheme  acquired  dimensions, 
His  clarion  voice,  throughout  the  land, 

Arose  in  thunder  tones, 
To  let  the  folks  all  understand 

The  stand  of  "  Alfred  Jones." 

With  tragic  vigor  he  proclaimed 

His  sentiments  and  speeches  ; 
Claib.  Jackson  must,  he  thought,  be  blamed 

For  running  off  "  sans  breeches." 


118 


Abe  Lincoln  did  not  suit  Ms  taste, 

Too  shallow  in  dilution, 
Because  he  thought  he  had  disgraced 

Our  sacred  Constitution. 

These  speeches  not  unheeded  fell 

On  Alfred's  auditories ; 
But  many  men  remembered  well 

His  sentimental  stories  : 
So  when  the  Yankees  sent  their  troops 

To  occupy  Missouri, 
Full  many  fancies  pictured  loops 

For  "  A.  Jones  "  in  their  fury. 

To  end  a  tale,  so  long,  so  sad, 

Permit  me,  in  conclusion, 
To  say  A.  Jones  quite  shortly  had 

His  share  of  war's  delusion. 
While  wedging  through  a  window, 

To  make  good  his  retreat, 
He  stuck  fast  as  a  cinder 

In  a  Nova  Scotia  grate. 

So  now  this  politician  came 
To  realize  the  fact, 


119 


That  bayonets  played  a  closer  game 

Than  oratory's  tact : 
He  sits  a  prisoner,  in  suspense, 

To  know  his  stay's  duration ; 
And  ponders,  while  he  reads  events, 

On  A.  JONES  and  the  nation  1 

July  28,  1861. 


STRAY  THOUGHTS. 

There's  not  one  thought  of  all  the  train 
That,  countless,  courses  through  my  brain 

But  bears  some  trace  of  thee ; 
And  not  one  star  that  gleams  above 
That  is  not  luminous  of  love 

Beyond  life's  billowy  sea. 

There's  not  a  shadow  o'er  me  falls 
But  Fate's  dominion  dark  recalls, 

As  clouds  remind  of  storm  ; 
And  midnight  gloom  but  tells  my  heart 
What  life  is  worth  with  thee  apart, 

Thou  priceless,  beauteous  form ! 


120 


OUR  FLAG, 

Let  our  banner  be  borne  on  the  breeze  of  the  morn, 
'  Tis  as  pure  as  the  dew-drop  be-gemmingits  crest ; 

The  emblem  of  heroes — a  nation  just  born, 
Of  sons  who  can  die,  but  cannot  be  oppressed. 

When  its  colors  are  spread  to  the  gaze  of  the  brave, 
They  hail  it  with  pride  and  devotion  untold ; 

With  rapture  they  welcome  the  bloodiest  grave, 
Ere  their  birthright  of  freedom  be  bartered  or  sold. 

It  has  ne'er  known  dishonor,  unstained  by  disgrace ; 

'Tis  the  safeguard  of  Beauty,  'tis  chivalry's  shrine, 
Encircled  by  soldiers,  who  rush  to  the  place 

Where  the  chaplets  of  patriot  laurels  entwine. 

Then  bear  it  aloft  o'er  the  Southerners'  soil — 
Defiance  it  hurls  in  the  teeth  of  its  foes  ; 

And  trembling  before  it  invaders  recoil, 
For  freemen  defend  it,  while  tyrants  oppose. 

Dec.  16,  1861. 


To  ALLIE. 

In  my  gloom,  dejected,  sitting, 

War's  grim  phantoms  hovering  near ; 


121 


Through  my  fancy,  forms  come  flitting, 
Youth  and  hope  had  once  held  dear ; 

There  they  come  in  crowded  vista — 
Vanish  hideous  shapes  before  them— 

Radiant  as  Apollo's  sister, 
While  a  rainbow  circles  o'er  them. 

Every  charm  and  sweet  perfection 

Aids  the  fascinating  spell ; 
Memory  wakes  each  fond  reflection, 

And  the  bitter  ones  dispel. 

One  there  is  among  the  throng, 
See  her !  in  her  modest  guise ; 

How  I  feel  her  thrilling  song, 
And  the  witchery  of  her  eyes. 

She,  pre-eminent  among  them, 
Wearer,  brighter  than  the  rest, 

Shuts  the  door  of  memory  on  them — 
Now  she's  to  my  bosom  pressed. 

A  Hie !  blessing  of  my  life, 
Vainly  are  we  torn  asunder ; 

Pride  of  youth,  my  gentle  wife, 
Guardian  angel,  I  have  found  her. 


122 


Now  imagination  folds  her 
Fondly,  trembling  on  my  breast ; 

Present,  absent,  still  it  holds  her — 
Purest,  brightest,  dearest,  best. 

Hardships  teach  me  but  to  prize  her, 
Separations  draw  her  near  ; 

I  shall  seek  to  be  no  wiser — 
Let  me  know  she  holds  me  dear. 

Jan.  25,  1862. 


THE  MISSOURI  EXILE. 

[SONG.] 

Missouri !  my  native  land,  why  mock  thee  with  song  ? 
The  day  of  thy  bondage  is  cruel  and  long  ; 
Thy  best  blood  in  exile,  brave,  manly  and  strong, 
Still  loves  thee,dies  for  thee,  yet  flies  from  thy  throng. 

Missouri !  thy  children  reck  not  where  they  shed 
The  blood  that  must  free  them  from  tyranny's  tread ; 
They  perish  far  from  thee,  in  battle,  in  toil, 
But  smiles  close  their  eyelids — they  die  for  thy  soil. 

Missouri  land !    we  come  again  with  banner  and 
plume, 


123 


Come  proudly  to  free  th.ee  from  thraldom  and  gloom  ; 
Our  bright  steel  shall  flash  forth  the  traitors' just 

doom, 
And  tyrants  and  tory  consign  to  their  tomb. 

18G2. 


SOLDIER'S  LAMENT. 

Bright  eyes  may  shine  for  others, 

For  me  they  cannot  shine ; 
And  parents,  sisters,  brothers, 

Can  never  more  be  mine  : 
I  only  live  to  perish, 

In  exile  and  in  hate  : 
No  softer  dreams  I  cherish, 

My  heart  is  steeled  to  fate. 

And  she,  the  idol,  dearer 

Than  every  joy  beside, 
When  fortune  placed  me  near  her 

In  happiness  and  pride — 
She  too,  alas  !  forever 

Has  faded  from  my  sight, 
And  Fate  herself  can  never 

Undo  affection's  blight. 

Nov.  17,  1862. 


124 


LETTERS  FROM  HOME. 

They  tell  me  she  is  beautiful, 

E'en  more  than  in  that  hour 
When  first  my  poor  heart  trembled 

As  it  felt  that  beauty's  power. 
"  More  beautiful  than  ever  !  "    Nell ! 
'Tis  strange  my  heart  should  swell 

With  feelings,  as  I  read  these  words, 
That  manhood  cannot  quell. 
Why  do  they  write  an  exile  thus  ? 

'Tis  not  for  him  to  know 
The  pride  and  bliss  of  being  loved 

By  one  in  beauty's  glow. 
And  oh  !  that  fate  our  destiny 

Should  link  but  to  divide, 
And  sunder  us  so  cruelly 

When  she  was  scarce  a  bride. 
How  to  my  very  core  of  hearts 

The  words  of  cold  praise  fly : 
"  There  is  more  bloom  upon  her  cheek, 

More  sparkle  in  her  eye." 
I  scarcely  think  it  possible  ! 

But  language  has  no  word 


125 


To  tell  the  thrilling  pulse  these  lines 

Within  my  bosom  stirred. 
Her  eyes  were  always  bright  with  love, 

And  lightning  nestled  there, 
That  flashed  into  her  lovely  soul 

With  wild  electric  glare  ; 
And  when  the  flash  was  over, 

The  darkness  came  again, 
More  desolate  and  dreary 

Than  I  e'er  had  known  till  then. 
Life  seemed  a  curse  without  her, 

And  she  at  last  was  mine  ; 
My  wretchedness  was  changed  to  bliss, 

Ecstatic  and  divine. 
The  rapture  of  our  mutual  love, 

The  smiling  fates  adorn  ; 
Affection's  pledge  from  heaven  was  sent — 

Our  little  girl  was  born. 
I  saw  her  eye,  exulting,  on 

The  cherub  creature  bend  ; 
Her  glance  on  me  with  dearest  thought 

I  have  ever  seemed  to  blend. 
The  mystic  spell  is  broken — 

I  am  banished  from  her  side  ; 


12G 


While  waves  and  Mils  and  dreary  wilds 

Our  aching  hearts  divide  : 
And  cruel  war,  and  battle  fierce, 

And  cannon's  swelling  roar, 
Leave  me  to  only  dream  and  die 

For  the  woman  I  adore. 

Batesville,  Ark.,  Nov.  17,  1862. 


THE  PAST. 

There  are  faces  we  never  forget, 
There  are  shadows  that  never  can  fade, 

There  are  visions  that  last  when  realities  set 
In  the  gloom  of  oblivion's  shade. 

Time's  splendor  is  fleeting  at  best, 

Its  colors  and  baubles  decay ; 
But  the  heart  and  its  treasures  are  blest, 

And  repose  only  brightens  their  ray. 

Then  why  should  we  sigh  for  the  light 
That  lingers  round  greatness  and  pride  ? 

Let  us  cherish  the  feelings  that  yield  us  delight, 
And  spurn  every  yearning  aside. 


127 


There  is  nothing  we  mortals  can  own 
But  fades  when  no  longer  we  live  ; 

Fate  sits  on  a  tottering  throne, 

And  Death  will  claim  all  she  can  give  : 

But  blessings  there  are  that  survive 
Every  dart  that  Destiny  can  cast ; 

Let  Ambition  and  Avarice  strive — 
While  they  vanish,  Affection  will  last. 

Dec.  21,  1862. 


To  ALLIE. 

On  the  verge  of  mighty  ocean,  I  have  gazed  upon 

the  deep, 
I  have  watched  the  magic  motion  of  the  waves  that 

never  sleep ; 
And  while  sacred  eve  descended,  o'er  the  earth  and 

o'er  the  sea, 
As  the  day  and  darkness  blended,  I  was  thinking, 

love,  of  thee. 

Crested  billows,   soft  and  changing,  chased  each 
other  from  the  shore, 


128 


And  thus  I  felt  my  thoughts  were  ranging  to  the 
heart  that  I  adore : 

As  soft  words  of  love  unspoken  gently  break  upon 
thy  ear, 

These  waves  no  murmuring  betoken,  till  their  rest- 
ing place  is  near. 

On  the  mountain  top  reposing,  in  the  night  wind 
cool  and  chill, 

Radiant  stars,  their  light  disclosing,  hover  o'er  an 
exile  still: 

There  is  something  in  their  beaming  that  now  whis- 
pers "All  is  well," 

And,  in  spite  of  darker  seeming,  Love  still  weaves 
its  magic  spell. 

Wandering  thus,  dejected,  lonely,  far  away  my  foot- 
prints rest ; 

Hope  still  looks  to  thee,  thee  only,  when  my  bosom 
is  depressed : 

Whether  hill  or  vale  I'm  tracing,  mountain  top,  or 
shelly  shore, 

Patiently  my  ills  embracing,  for  the  woman  I  adore. 

Dec.  21,  1861. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DYING  WHISPER. 

Near  where  the  battle  raged  fiercely  and  wild, 
Wounded  and  dying,  how  calmly  he  smiled  ! 
Smoke  of  artillery  tainted  the  gale, 
Wreathing  each  feature  that  grows  marble  pale  ; 
Clasping  her  miniature  close  to  his  breast- 
Death  fastens  rigid  the  fingers  he  pressed. 
Hush  !    Is  it  conscience  he  struggles  to  hide  ? 
Where  were  his  thoughts  drifting  last  when  he  died? 

Lift  away  the  curtains  that  darken  my  soul ; 

One  dying  moment  let  Beauty  control ! 

Send  me  back  the  light  that  flashed  from  her  eyes ; 

Let  it  illumine  my  heart  while  it  dies : 

Softly,  still  softlier,  fall  on  my  ear 

Strains  of  word  music,  that  once  were  so  dear. 

Vain  is  thy  mockery  now,  Earth  and  Pride  ! 

Tell  her  I  heard  her  voice  last  when  I  died. 

Clinging  to  memory  comes  back  the  hour 
When,  in  the  moonlight,  we  stood  in  the  bower, 
Stood  there  to  pledge,  by  the  calm  stars  above, 
That  "  time  and  change  should  not  alter  our  love." 


130 


Well  hath  this  vow  been  kept  faithful  and  true, 
"  Never  another  love,  not  loving  you  ; " 
Should  that  voice  o'er  my  grave  linger  to  chide, 
Tell  her  I  thought  of  her  last  when  I  died  ! 

Tho'  long  a  wanderer,  sundered  afar, 
Far  from  my  native  land,  off  in  the  war, 
'Twas  for  her  child  and  her  honor  I  fought, 
Not  fame  or  glory,  so  oft  falsely  bought ; 
Wishes  by  millions  my  aching  heart  sends  : 
Is  it  a  phantom  that  over  me  bends  ? 
Phantom  or  real,  ah  !  let  it  abide ! 
Tell  her  I  prayed  for  her  last  when  I  died. 

July  21,  1863. 


SONG  FOR  THE  "  MISSOURI." 

The  Yankee  lads  and  iron  clads 

Are  welcome  now  to  try  us  ; 
With  shot  and  shell  we'll  greet  them  well, 

Before  they  shall  go  by  us. 
With  our  banner  floating  o'er  us, 
Let  the  foe  but  come  before  us  ; 
Every  gun  will  swell  the  chorus — 

Bomb,  bomb,  bomb,  bomb. 


131 


We  all  were  tars  before  the  war, 

And  know  a  thing  or  two  ; 
Our  leader  is  our  sort  of  man, 

And  we're  a  jolly  crew. 
While  a  man  lives  to  defend  her, 
The  "  Missouri  "  still  will  send  her 
Answer  to  the  word  "  surrender : " 

Bomb,  bomb,  bomb,  bomb. 

For  Southern  girls  and  Southern  rights 

"  Missouri  "  breasts  the  wave  ; 
Her  noble  name  will  yet  give  fame 

To  Carter  and  Musgrave. 
Always  ready  for  the  trial — 

When  the  Yankee  pirates  come, 
They  will  soon  find  out  the  style 

Of  our  bomb,  bomb,  bomb,  bomb. 
Shreveport,  March  29,  1864. 


ROSY  WINE. 

To  sit  with  one — and  one  alone — 

And  talk  and  read  and  onward  speed, 

While  far  from  crowds,  through  broken  clouds 


132 


The  moonbeams  fringe  the  mountain's  brink, 
Is  wine,  I  think,  for  gods  to  drink. 

Under  this  rosy,  sparkling  wine, 

My  soul  and  thine 

Would  feign  entwine, 

Till  two  are  one  and  both  divine. 

Between  us  two  the  waters  blue 

Assume  the  hues  of  azure  true, 

And  Heaven  is  vividly  in  view ; 
And,  entre  nous,  your  wondrous  eyes, 
To  my  surprise,  awake  my  sighs, 
And  trembling  I'm  in  Paradise  ; 

Yet,  entre  nous,  it  will  not  do, 

My  dear,  for  you  to  say  "  adieu," 

And  tell  me  this  is  nothing  new. 

1864. 


FAREWELL. 

[Respectfully  inscribed  to  my  Cousin  Lou  M.  McDowell,  Ala.] 

Farewell !  to  the  pleasing  sensations 
That  pelting  and  praising  invoke  ; 

Farewell !  to  the  partial  relations, 
Whom  not  even  my  follies  provoke  ; 


133 


Farewell !  to  the  gems  I  discover, 
Long  hid  in  an  unexplored  mine  ; 

Farewell !  when  the  mid- day  is  over, 

To  the  sweet-scented  breeze  from  the  vine. 

Farewell !  to  the  halls  of  my  kindred  ; 

Farewell !  to  the  scenes  of  repose  ; 
Farewell !  to  the  shadowy  clusters 

Of  jasmine,  verbena  and  rose  ; 
And  when  far  from  the  spirits  that  love  me 

I  meet  with  the  callous  and  strange, 
At  midnight,  in  secret,  t'will  move  me 

To  think  that  your  love  will  not  change. 

Farewell !  and  if  farewell  forever, 

'Tis  no  vacant,  unmeaning  refrain  ; 
But  it  wings  from  the  heart  as  we  sever 

Mute  wishes  of  meeting  again. 
Tho'  the  blood  which  our  veins  both  inherit 

Be  as  noble  as  any  on  earth, 
Let  us  claim  to  be  kindred  in  spirit, 

And  not  merely  kindred  by  birth. 

May  31,  1864. 


134 


THE  NEWS  FROM  HOME. 

A  man  or  two  murdered,  a  name  or  two  stained — 

A  mill  struck  by  lightning,  a  roustabout  brained- 

A  consolidation  of  corporate  powers— 

A  party  that  lasted  until  the  small  hours — 

A  runaway  team,  a  theatrical  row— 

A  lot  of  low  gossip  too  vile  for  a  sow— 

A  list  of  the  wicked  condemned  in  the  courts — 

A  tame  summing  up  of  the  out-of-door  sports— 

A  few  of  the  loiterers  loafing  at  springs — 

And  this  is  the  news  that  the  newspaper  brings. 

1864. 


PURIFICATION. 

'Tis  said  that  the  Goddess  of  Beauty  arose 
From  the  foam  of  the  boisterous  sea  ; 

And  the  muse  of  the  South  will  rise  from  her  woes, 
And  grow  beautiful  when  she  is  free. 

'Tis  the  fierce  heat  of  fire  gives  refinement  of  gold, 
And  its  dross  is  but  parted,  it  is  not  destroyed  ; 

And  fate  will  our  future  good  Genius  unfold, 
Untrammelled,  unsullied,  uncloyed. 


135 


Those  only  can  speak  to  a  suffering  world 
Who  have  suffered  themselves — then  they  speak 
to  the  heart : 

We  ask  for  no  solace  when  joy  is  unfurled, 
We  remember  no  lesson  that  pleasures  impart. 

Then  blest  Revolution  !  affliction  of  God ! 

While  thy  cries  brood  desolate  over  the  land, 
Souls  ne'er  to  be  conquered  kneel  kissing  the  rod 

That  is  held  by  an  Ever-wise  Hand. 

1864. 


I  SIGH  FOR  THEE. 

[SONG]  . 

With  restless  foot,  I've  wandered  far, 
And  trod  the  weary  paths  of  war ; 
I've  tempted  death  for  native  shore, 
And  mingled  in  the  battle's  roar ; 
In  danger  struggled  to  appease 
A  restless  heart  averse  to  ease ; 
Yet  danger's  charm  is  lost  to  me, 
And  still  I  sigh — and  sigh  for  thee. 


'Mid  lofty  balls,  at  lowly  door, 
I've  shared  the  fare  of  rich  and  poor ; 
Strange  faces  now  look  strange  no  more, 
They  look  like  those  I've  met  before. 
I've  sought  exciting  scenes  in  vain, 
And  changing  brings  no  change  of  pain  ; 
My  chafing  heart  roams  yet  unfree — 
A  prisoner  still — it  sighs  for  thee. 

The  sleep  that  once  brought  rest  at  night 
No  longer  soothes  with  soft  delight ; 
No  calm  repose  for  me  by  day 
Can  freshen  now  my  life's  decay  ; 
But  doomed  to  be  unsatisfied, 
Appeals  are  vain  to  Hope  or  Pride  ; 
In  Honor's  wreath  I  only  see 
Fresh  cause  to  sigh — and  sigh  for  thee. 

The  loss  of  rapture  in  thine  arms 
Is  brought  to  mind  by  beauty's  charms ; 
But  still  no  smile  awakes  'a  thought 
So  deep,  so-  dear,  as  you  have  taught : 


The  crowd's  gay  mirth  brings  no  delight, 
And  eyes  look  dim  that  once  looked  bright ; 
My  spirit  sickens  at  their  glee, 
And  still  I  sigh — and  sigh  for  thee. 

March  30,  1864. 


To  ALLIE. 

The  shutters  rattle,  in  the  blast, 
And  clouds  obscure  the  moon  ; 

The  midnight  is  already  past, 
And  day  will  dawn  too  soon. 

And  we  must  part !  how  sad  the  thought, 
That  hearts  like  ours  must  sever, 

And  lose  the  joy  our  meeting  brought, 
In  tears  or  parting  ever. 

So  rare  are  hearts  that  truly  love 

Permitted  to  unite ; 
Apollo  should  be  bid  by  Jove 

Prolong  their  parting  night. 

But  duty  calls  :  I  haste  away, 

At  dawn  I  lead  my  men  ; 
But,  dearest,  think  of  me,  and  pray 

To  meet  me  soon  again, 

Texas,  March  8,  1865. 

138 


THE  BURIAL  OF  SHELBY'S  FLAG. 

A  July  sun,  in  torrid  clime,  gleamed  on  an  exile  band, 

Who  in  suits  of  gray 

Stood  in  mute  array 
On  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Grande. 
They  were  dusty  and  faint  with  their  long,  drear  ride, 
And  they  paused  when  they  came  to  the  river  side ; 

For  its  wavelets  divide, 

With  their  glowing  tide, 
Their  own  dear  land  of  youth,  hope,  pride, 
And  comrades'  graves,  who  IN  VAIN  had  died, 
From  the  stranger's  home,  in  a  land  untried. 

Above  them  waved  the  Confederate  flag,  with  its 
fatal  cross  of  stars, 

That  had  always  been 
In  the  battle's  din 
Like  a  pennon  of  potent  Mars. 
And  there  curved  from  the  crest  of  their  leader  a 

plume 

That  the  brave  had  followed  in  joy  and  gloom, 
That  was  ever  in  sight 
In  the  hottest  fight — 


139 


A  flaunting  dare  for  a  soldier's  tomb, 

For  the  marksman's  aim  and  the  cannon's  boom, 

But  it  bore  a  charm  from  the  hand  of  doom. 

Forth  stepped  that  leader  then  and  said,   to  the 
faithful  few  around : 

u  This  tattered  rag 

Is  the  only  flag 
That  floats  on  Dixie  ground ; 
And  this  plume  that  I  tear  from  the  hat. I  wear 
Of  all  my  spoils  is  my  only  share  ; 

And,  brave  men !  I  swear 

That  no  foe  shall  dare 
To  lay  his  hand  on  our  standard  there. 
Its  folds  were  braided  by  fingers  fair  , 
'Tis  the  emblem  now  of  their  deep  despair. 

Its  cause  is  lost.     And  the  men  it  led  on  many  a 
glorious  field, 

In  disputing  the  tread 

Of  invaders  dread, 
Have  been  forced  at  last  to  yield. 
But  this  banner  and  plume  have  not  been  to  blame ; 
No  exulting  eye  shall  behold  their  shame  ; 


140 


And  these  relics  so  dear, 

In  the  waters  here, 
Before  we  cross,  shall  burial  claim  : 
And  while  yon  mountains  may  bear  name 
They  shall  stand  as  monuments  of  our  fame. 

Tears  stood  in  eyes  that  looked  on  death  in  every 
awful  form 

Without  dismay ; 

But  the  scene  that  day 
Was  sublimer  than  mountain  storm  ! 
'Tis  easy  to  touch  the  veteran's  heart 
With  the  finger  of  nature,  but  not  of  art, 

While  the  noble  of  soul 

Lose  self  control, 

When  called  on  with  flag,  home  and  country  to  part, 
Base  bosoms  are  ever  too  callous  to  start 
With  feelings  that  generous  natures  can  smart. 

They  buried  then  that  flag  and  plume  in  the  river's 
rushing  tide, 

Ere  that  gallant  few 

Of  the  tried  and  true 
Had  been  scattered  far  and  wide. 


HI 


And  that  group  of  Missouri's  valiant  throng, 
Who  had  fought  for  the  weak  against  the  strong- 

Who  had  charged  and  bled 

Where  Shelby  led— 
Were  the  last  who  held  above  the  wave 
The  glorious  flag  of  the  vanquished  brave, 
No  more  to  rise  from  its  watery  grave ! 
PIEDRAS  KEGRAS,  on  the  Eio  Grande,  July  4th,  1865. 


OUR  INVADERS. 

We  have  fought  you  all  unfriended, 

For  the  world  sustained  your  crime  ; 
And  the  rights  which  we  defended 

Met  the  scorn  of  every  clime  : 
Still  they're  no  less  dear  and  holy, 

In  the  dungeon  wearing  chains, 
Than  they  were  when  Southrons  boldly 

Chased  you  from  Manassa's  plains. 

Lips  once  proud  bend  meek  and  lowly, 
Kiss  the  hands  that  struck  the  blow, 

And  submit  to  terms  unholy 
From  the  gloating,  beastly  foe ; 


142 


But  think  not  in  exultation 
All  are  stricken  with  dismay — 

Some  still  cherish  indignation 
For  a  fiercer,  bloodier  fray. 

When  the  many  knelt,  faint  hearted, 

To  receive  the  cell  and  chain, 
Some  with  vows  renewed  departed 

From  the  accursed  foe's  domain ; 
And  in  patience  we  are  waiting 

For  the  wrath  of  God  on  high, 
'Gainst  our  stricken  land  abating, 

To  avenge  the  outraged  cry. 

We  are  not  the  first  example 

Of  a  nation  crushed,  oppressed ; 
Every  race  has  records  ample, 

Freedom's  struggles  to  attest. 
Oftentimes  the  blood  and  treason 

Seem  expended  all  in  vain  ; 
But  the  avenger  Time  will  measure 

All  their  outlay  back  again. 

August  11,  1865. 


143 


To  ALLIE. 

I  have  no  heart  for  study, 

And  I  have  no  heart  for  song ; 
The  days  seem  everlasting, 

And  the  nights  are  just  as  long  : 
I  have  pondered  over  pages, 

'Till  their  faces  are  alike  ; 
And  I  count  the  listless  pulses 

Of  the  town  clocks  as  they  strike. 
Now  the  watchman's  lonely  signal 

Shocks  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
And  anon  the  stars  I  gaze  on 

Pale  before  the  coming  light. 
"  All's  well !  "  the  town  is  sleeping, 

But  there  is  no  rest  for  me  ; 
My  soul  is  filled  with  weeping— 

In  vain  I  seek  repose  on  earth, 
When  absent,  love,  from  thee. 

August  13,  1865. 


"NOT  FOR  ME." 

The  stars  are  flaming  out  to-night, 
But  not  for  me — but  not  for  me  ; 


144 


Their  sparkling  beams  are  fraught  with  light, 

But  not  for  me — but  not  for  me ; 
Their  radiance  mocks  the  dismal  gloom 

Within  my  heart — within  my  heart ; 
For  every  hope  hath  found  a  tomb 

Within  my  heart — within  my  heart. 

Beyond  yon  mountain's  towering  crest 

I  scan  the  sky — I  scan  the  sky  ; 
Each  night  renews  my  fruitless  quest — 

I  scan  the  sky — I  scan  the  sky  : 
No  ray  among  the  millions  there 

Will  leave  the  rest — will  leave  the  rest- 
To  soothe  the  darkness  of  despair 

That  fills  my  breast — that  fills  my  breast. 

My  eyes  have  seen  earth's  beauties  shine 

In  dazzling  glee — in  dazzling  glee  ; 
But  of  them  all  not  one  is  mine, 

Not  one  for  me — not  one  for  me  : 
In  exile,  solitude  and  care, 

Before  my  prime — before  my  prime — 
I've  watched  the  wreck  of  every  prayer, 

And  bide  my  time — and  bide  my  time. 

Monterey,  Mexico,  August  21,  1865. 


145 


HOME  AND  LOVED  ONES. 

I  live  but  in  the  dreams  of  those 

Who  once  my  pathway  cheered, 
Remembered  joys,  forgotten  woes, 

And  loves  by  grief  endeared ; 
Youth's  ecstasy  and  hope  have  fled, 

Its  fresh  and  sparkling  dew ; 
Its  buds  of  promise,  scorched  and  dead, 

Are  lost  forever  too. 

No  longer  throbs  the  bounding  pulse 

Of  boyhood's  hallowed  prime ; 
'Tis  chilled  beneath  the  world's  repulse, 

By  sorrow,  not  by  time  : 
Misfortune  and  the  frown  of  Fate, 

Like  lightning's  shivering  spears, 
Leaped  startling  through  the  storm  of  State, 

And  buried  all  in  tears. 

Monterey,  Mexico,  September  10,  1865. 


To  THE  BELLE  OF  MISSOURI. 

While  forbidden  to  dwell  'neath  the  light  of  thine 

eyes, 

Or  to  breathe  the  sweet  nectar  thy  presence  dis- 
tils, 


146 


My  absence  and  exile  but  teach  me  to  prize 

The  beauty  that  blooms  on  my  own  native  hills. 

Ah  !  sad  were  the  moments  when  bidding  adieu 
To  a  country  oppressed  by  its  bitterest  foe  ; 

With  a  tear  o'er  the  graves  of  the  faithful  and  true, 
And  a  curse  on  the  dastard  who  shrank  from  the 
blow. 

I  have  roamed  into  regions  more  genial  and  mild. 

And  climates  that  glow  with  Italia's  own  blue ; 
But  no  beauty  like  thine  on  my  vision  has  smiled. 

And  no  land  has  a  daughter  to  rival  with  you  : 
In  the  blaze  of  their  splendor,  the  wealthy  and  proud 

Have  diamonds  that  flash  with  a  ray  from  the 

skies  ; 
But  the  jewels  are  vain  as  the  forms  they  enshroud 

To  out- dazzle  the  true  sparkling  light  of  thine  eyes. 

Sept.  26,  1865.— San  Luis  Potosi,  Mexico. 


To  — 

From  yonder  antique  dome  the  midnight  bell 
Signals  the  watchman  down  the  distant  street ; 

Silence  and  vigil  shed  their  mystic  spell, 
Unbroken  by  the  sound  of  passing  feet. 


Above  Ayusco  faintly  beams  the  moon, 
The  stars  in  all  their  glory  mount  the  sky  ; 

Around  the  eaves  the  gentle  breezes  moan 

With  saddened  sounds,  that  in  the  distance  die. 

At  such  an  hour,  the  soul  is  all  of  fire, 
It  seems  absolved  from  contact  with  its  clay, 

And,  like  the  light  that  glimmers  from  a  pyre, 
Flies  from  its  source,  and  wanders  far  away. 

Ah  !  there  are  feelings  that  the  pen  can  paint, 
And  others  it  cannot :  the  struggling  heart 

Breaks  'neath  its  burden,  and  all  words  seem  faint 
To  tell  that  story  which  none  can  impart. 

What  is  the  story  ?  'Tis  the  secret  tale 

That  each  life  bears,  with  human  shape  endowed  ; 

The  tale  that  makes  the  gambler's  wife  grow  pale, 
Without  a  murmur — penitent,  and  yet  proud. 

It  is  the  mother's  anxious,  smothered  sigh, 

Over  the  errors  of  a  sinful  child ; 
It  is  the  calm  of  Christians  when  they  die, 

Or  fierce  remorse  that  groans  in  accents  wild. 

It  is  the  patient  absence  of  long  years 
Between  two  hearts  that  mutually  adore  ; 


148 


The  exile's  prayer  —  the  agony  and  tears 
For  one  whose  fate  is  hid  'neath  ocean's  roar. 


And  here  I  pause  —  for  I  cannot  express 

That  which  I  wish  to  tell  —  to  one  ?  ay,  two  ! 

Wife  of  my  youth,  child  of  our  tenderness, 
I  have  no  world  but  you  !  Adieu,  Adieu  ! 

City  of  Mexico,  December  30,  1865. 


To  MY  DAUGHTER  SUSIE. 

[Written  in  Mexico.] 

To-day  thy  chronicle  of  life  counts  five  ! 
And  he  who  should  be  near  thee  is  away  ; 

Thoughts  leave  my  heart,  as  bees  fly  from  a  hive, 
To  seek  their  favorite  flower,  its  charms  survey, 
And  burdened  with  its  sweets  retrace  their  way. 

Alas  !  poor  child !  God  grant  you  ne'er  may  know 
The  kindling  fierceness  of  your  father's  heart, 

Which  makes  him  scorn  to  fear  or  brook  a  foe, 
Yet  weep  in  secret  from  his  child  to  part, 
And  die  of  torture,  ere  confess  its  smart. 


149 


Thou  dost  not  know  me,  pretty  little  one  ; 
You'd  pass  me  by  unknown  upon  the  street : 

Thy  father's  features,  form,  appearance,  tone, 
Thy  fancy  doubtless  paints,  thy  friends  repeat  — 
Yet  ah !  how  sad  the  thought,  we  ne'er  may  meet ! 

Unknown  to  thee  my  yearning  for  thy  weal, 
Unknown  to  thee  my  sorrow  for  thy  woe ; 

Unknown  to  thee  what  pangs  intense  I  feel, 
To  think  my  only  child — a  girl — should  go 
Upon  life's  path  exposed  to  every  blow. 

Cruel  the  fate  that  severs  me  from  thee, 
Susie,  my  darling  ;  and  more  cruel  still 

That  vain  were  my  aims  to  make  thee  free 
From  the  despotic  sway,  and  unjust  will, 
Of  foeman  pledged  to  do  thee  every  ill. 

I  fought  to  save  thee !  think  of  that,  when  blame 
Is  muttered  in  thy  presence  'gainst  thy  Sire  ! 

Perhaps  thy  proud  heart  chafes  in  childish  shame 
To  hear  the  invader  curse  my  vengeance  dire  ; 
I  hope  again  to  make  them  feel  my  ire. 

But  all  such  thoughts  are  foreign  to  my  theme, 

For  every  pulse  beats  gently  at  thy  name  ; 
I  see  thee  nightly  in  my  brightest  dream, 


150 


And  wonder  if  thy  nature  will  be  tame, 

Or,  like  thy  father's,  glow  with  ardor's  flame. 

Ah !  the  rebuffs  thy  soul  must  meet  on  earth, 
If  you  inherit  but  one-tenth  my  fire  ; 

Perhaps  you'll  curse  the  hour  that  gave  you  birth, 
And  long  for  that  which  bids  thy  life  expire  ; 
I  have  oft  done  so  in  myphrensied  ire. 


DECKING  SOUTHERN  SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

1  \Pulveris  tria  maniplia  ad  manes  Spargera." 

Beautiful  feet !  with  maidenly  tread, 
Offerings  bring  to  the  gallant  dead  ; 
Footsteps  light  press  the  sacred  sod 
Of  souls  untimely  ascended  to  God : 
Bring  spring  flowers !  in  fragrant  perfume, 
And  offer  sweet  prayers  for  a  merciful  doom. 

Beautiful  hands !  ye  deck  the  graves 
Above  the  dust  of  the  Southern  braves  ; 
Here  was  extinguished  their  manly  fire, 
Rather  than  flinch  from  the  Northman's  ire : 
Bring  spring  flowers !  the  laurel  and  rose, 
And  deck  your  defenders'  place  of  repose. 


151 


Beautiful  eyes  !  the  tears  ye  shed 

Are  brighter  than  diamonds  to  those  who  bled ; 

Scorned  is  the  cause  they  fell  to  save, 

But  "  little  they'll  reck  "if  ye  love  their  graves  : 

Bring  spring  flowers  !  with  tears  and  praise, 

And  chant  o'er  their  tombs  your  grateful  lays. 

Beautiful  lips  !  ye  tremble  now — 

Memory  wakens  the  sleeping  ones'  vow  ; 

Mute  are  the  lips,  and  faded  the  forms, 

That  never  knelt  down  save  to  God  and  your  charms  : 

Bring  spring  flowers  !  all  dewy  with  morn, 

And  think  how  they  loved  ye,  whose  graves  ye  adorn, 

Beautiful  hearts !  of  matron  and  maid, 
Faithful  were  ye  when  Apostles  betrayed ; 
Here  are  your  loved  and  cherished  ones  laid. 
Peace  to  their  ashes  !  The  flowers  ye  strew 
Are  monuments  worthy  the  faithful  and  true  : 
Bring  spring  flowers  !  perfume  the  sod 
With  annual  incense  to  Glory  and  God. 

Beautiful  tribute  at  valor's  shrine, 

The  wreaths  that  fond  ones  lovingly  twine  ; 

Let  the  whole  world  their  ashes  despise — 


152 


Those  whom  they  cherished  with  heart,  hand  and 

eyes, 

Will  bring  spring  flowers  !  and  bow  the  head, 
And  pray  for  the  noble  Confederate  dead ! 

May  9th,  1866— On  Steamer  Stonewall,  Mississippi  River. 


To  JEFFERSON  DAVIS  IN  PRISON. 

Dark,  dark  is  the  cell  where  thy  foemen  entomb  thee, 
But,  like  the  great  pictures  that  mellow  by  time, 

The  anger  vindictive  which  seeks  to  consume  thee 
Will  brighten  thy  virtues,  but  darken  their  crime  ! 

Then  prostrate  defender  of  all  that  was  holy, 
And  sacred,  and  dear  to  the  hearts  that  were  thine, 

By  cruelty  greatness  was  never  made  lowly, 
But  grandeur  in  fetters  is  ever  sublime! 

Could  hearts  linked  in  liberty's  hopeless  endeavor 
Thine  agony,  pale  and  emaciate,  atone, 

They'd  share  it — and  never  forget  it — ah  !  never ! 
Thy  fault  was  thy  people's  ;  thy  greatness,  thine 
own ! 


153 


Then  while  Garibaldi  and  Kossuth  are  dining, 
No  longer  called  foes  when  they  once  are  o'er- 
thrown, 

The  American  champion  of  freedom  is  pining, 
In  a  dungeon  to  suffer  and  perish  alone. 

Aye  !  suffer  and  perish,  for  daily  and  nightly 
No  moment  of  rest  his  torments  allow ; 

The  sentinels'  tramp,  and  they  do  not  tramp  lightly, 
Is  waking,  remorselessly  waking,  him  now. 

The  wife  who  so  nobly  has  guarded  his  honor 
Is  suffered  at  last  to  behold  that  dear  face ; 

But  the  eye  of  a  base  menial  slave  is  upon  her, 
To  chill  back  her  tears  by  his  impudent  gaze. 

Ah !  tell  me  of  barbarous  nations  no  longer, 
When  torture  exquisite  as  this  is  devised, 

To  wreak  the  unsparing  revenge  of  the  stronger, 
On  one  who  though  captive  cannot  be  despised. 

Then  shackle  with  chains  the  wrecked  form  of  the 
leader, 

Who  marshalled  his  cohorts  and  fronted  your  line  ; 
The  chivalrous,  lofty  and  daring  "  seceder  " 

Will  soon  be  a  martyr,  heroic,  divine. 


154 


Then  murder  by  inches  the  soldier  who  fought  you, 
Transmit  to  your  children  the  damnable  stain  ; 

And  centuries  hence,  when  the  world  has  forgot  you, 
'Twill  honor  the  hero  who  now  wears  the  chain. 

June,  1866 — Written  on  Steamer  Kate  Khmey,  Missouri  River. 


CONTRASTS  IN  CITY  LIFE. 

Out  of  the  sound  of  the  voices, 

Away  from  the  noisy  street, 
Where  the  reveller  drinks  and  rejoices, 

And  the  sidewalks  bruise  my  feet, 
I  am  waiting  the  car  to  bear  me 

To  the  city's  outskirts  grey, 
Where  my  wife  is  waiting  to  hear  me 

Recount  the  toilsome  day. 

I  left  her  soon  this  morning, 

And  little  Susie  asleep  ; 
All  night  we  had  watched  the  darling, 

Such  watch  as  parents  keep, 
O'er  her  feverish,  childish  prattle, 

Our  weary  eyelids  bent, 
Till  the  fever  ceased  its  battle, 

As  the  dawn  with  darkness  blent. 


155 


Then  with  heavy  heart  I  started 

To  earn  their  daily  bread  ; 
And  I've  toiled  all  day  sore-hearted 

With  the  fear  our  child  is  dead  : 
Though  none  in  the  shop  were  braver 

To  do  the  tiresome  task — 
The  hour !  ah,  for  the  favor  ! 

But  'twould  cost  my  place  to  ask. 

Now  the  car  is  moving  slowly, 

Filled  with  hearts  that  do  not  think 
Of  the  trials  of  the  lowly, 

Who  from  their  glances  shrink  : 
I'll  take  my  seat  by  a  banker, 

Who  has  gained  enough  to-day 
To'store  it  away  to  canker — 

What !  could  she  ?  and  I  away  ? 

The  street  cars  thunder  and  rattle, 

The  lamp  jets  fleck  the  street, 
But  silent  now  is  the  prattle 

That  the  father  longs  to  greet : 
He  finds  them  alone  in  the  cottage, 

The  mother  and  pale  dead  child, 
Within  o  one  to  heed  her  sorrow, 

Or  to  hear  her  sobbings  wild. 

156 


They  both  then  bend  their  gazing 

On  the  smile -set  marble  face, 
Till  the  taper  ceases  its  blazing, 

And  darkness  drapes  the  place ; 
But  while  their  hearts  are  bleeding, 

In  squalor,  dark  and  drear, 
The  banker's  guests  are  leading 

The  dance  in  his  mansion  near. 

October  7th,  1866. 


OUR  DEAD. 

Wake  not  the  slumbers  of  the  brave, 

Who  for  their  honor  fell ; 
But  let  each  everlasting  grave 

Its  mute  suggestion  tell. 

They  passed  away  in  brighter  days, 

In  glory  and  in  fight ; 
Ere  valiant  deeds  had  lost  their  praise, 

Or  wrong  subdued  the  right. 

The  hearts  once  lit  with  freedom's  flame, 
That  in  the  valley  lie, 


157 


Now  sleep  beyond  the  reach,  of  shame— 
We  for  the  living  sigh. 

Hearts  that  indignant  scorned  to  live 

Submissive  to  a  wrong, 
Had  prized  no  boon  that  life  could  give, 

Or  had  not  prized  it  long. 

1866. 


•  STERLING  PRICE. 
A  MISSOUEI  POEM  BY  A  NATIVE  MISSOUEIAN. 

Written  in  1866. 

Dedicated  to  those  whose  generosity  to  the  people  of  the  South 
would  relieve  the  distress  occasioned  by  war. 

There  was  a  time  when  anxious  quest  arose, 

To  find  a  leader  for  a  nobler  band 
Than  Sparta's  bravest.    Fierce  dissension  grows 

From  trifling  matters  o'er  a  stricken  land, 
"When  words  political  result  in  blows, 

And  light  dispute  to  deadliest  hate  is  fanned  ; 
But  Envy  shudders  when  the  times  demand 
A  chief  resolved  against  all  odds  to  stand. 


158 


Men  stood  appalled  !     They  had  but  heard  of  war, 
When  brutal  Hessians  shot  some  hapless  girls 

And  harmless  men.      Camp  Jackson's  lightning  jar 
Down  Walnut  Street  its  bolt  magnetic  hurls. 

St.  Louis  trembles  !    Passion,  near  and  far, 
Contagion  spreads.     Civil  commotion  whirls 

All  systems  into  chaos.     German  churls 

With  Yankee  fiends  unite.   The  tragic  curtain  furls. 

And  what  a  scene  !  Arrayed  on  Freedom's  side, 
Ready  to  strike  for  God  and  native  shore, 

After  the  boasting  ranters  all  subside, 

There  are  some  thousands  who  resolve  to  pour 

Their  last  heart-drops  of  blood  into  the  tide, 
Or  win  redress  for  wrong  in  battle's  roar: 

Patrician  offspring  offer  there  their  gore, 

If  need  be,  to  sustain  the  South's  devour. 

And  yet  Missouri  did  not  seek  their  fight, 
In  all  the  tumult  she  had  plead  for  peace  : 

Doomed  to  be  robbed,  no  matter  who  was  right, 
The  meek  lamb's  innocence  saves  not  its  fleece. 

Both  parties  covet,  and  they  both  invite  ; 

We  shun  them  both,  and  each  cries  "treason  this !  " 

We  lacked  the  sterner  manhood  of  old  Greece, 

Or  we  had  armed,  and  bid  the  quarrel  cease. 


159 


We  could  have  said,  "  We'll  not  invade  the  South," 
Our  property,  like  theirs,  is  menaced  too  ; 

Nor  will  we  rush  into  the  cannon's  mouth, 

Because  John  Brown  was  hung,  as  was  his  due." 

Bad  farmers  cut  their  crop  up  in  a  drouth, 
Neglecting  thus  the  little  they  might  do  ; 

And  so  when  faction  rules,  it  will  subdue 

The  little  sense  that  might  have  struggled  through. 

No  choice  was  left  except  to  choose  our  side- 
Missouri  argued  for  the  Union  still ; 

A  call  for  troops  aroused  her  latent  pride— 
For  troops  to  carry  out  a  despot's  will — 

For  troops  to  scatter  vengeance  far  and  wide— 
For  troops  'neath  flags  of  "union"  and  "good- will ;" 

To  crush  our  brother,  and  his  blood  to  spill. 

That  abolition  rage  might  drink  its  fill. 

This  "  call"  was  scorned  by  other  States  than  ours, 
But  "  loyalty  "  was  never  questioned  there  ; 

In  vain  Democracy  opposed  the  powers 

The  "  Free  States  President  "  assumed  to  bear. 

Old  sailors  wait  not  till  the  storm  cloud  lowers 
To  trim  their  sails.    States  of  the  Northwest  swear 

"  'Tis  wrong,"  "they  won't,"  and,  like  a  yielding  fair, 

They  curse  New  England,  yet  her  lewdness  share. 


The  time  for  calm  discussion  is  not  yet, 
But  men  will  wonder  in  the  time  to  come 

How  strife  could  fling  its  drapery  of  jet 
O'er  every  door  where  Courage  has  a  home, 

By  such  transcendant  bosh  as  Seward  set 

To  woo  his  trudging  minions  from  their  loam, 

And  place  them  following  the  fife  and  drum, 

With  deeds  of  brutal  wrong  that  struck  men  dumb. 

For  twenty  years  the  North  had  nursed  its  rage, 
For  thirty  years  had  threatened  to  divide  ; 

"  Part  slave,  part  free,"  it  was  their  motto  sage, 
"  This  country  cannot  be  :  "  so  they  decide 

To  blot  their  own  slaves  from  historic  page, 
By  selling  those  they  had,  before  they  tried 

Emancipation.     Then,  'tis  not  denied, 

'Twas  Northern  men  said,  "Let  the  Union  slide." 

They  took  good  care  to  sell  their  negroes  first, 
Before  they  found  out  slavery  was  a  sin ; 

They  pocketed  the  cash  with  pious  thirst — 
To  soothe  their  consciences  they  squeezed  the  tin. 

I  never  heard  of  Yankee  yet  who  durst 
Not  keep  the  price  the  Southerners  paid  in 

For  these  same  woolly-heads,  who've  been 

The  real  cause  of  all  this  war-like  din. 


161 


The  sale  completed,  why  should  they  ask  more  ? 

They  had  the  money,  and  we  kept  the  slaves  ; 
Our  land  and  cotton  added  to  their  store, 

But  Beecher,  Greeley,  Helper,  Lincoln,  Graves, 
And  many  others  of  their  kith  and  yore, 

Preached  madness,  till  the  truth  itself  depraves 
The  public  heart,  and  red-tongued  ruin  raves 
Over  the  wilderness  of  white  men's  graves. 

Such  was  the  national  disease  when  we 
First  realized  the  awful  cry  of  blood  ; 

And  as  each  branch  pines  with  its  parent  tree, 
Missouri's  hopes  are  blighted  in  the  bud. 

The  only  question  with  us  now  must  be, 
Where  shall  we  find  a  man  to  stem  this  flood, 

Who  loves  the  Union,  yet  who  has  withstood 

The  meanness  of  this  Abolition  blood  ? 

There  were  but  two  whose  names  both  friend  and  foe 
Acknowledged  overbalanced  all  compeers  ; 

Both  gained  renown  in  wars  with  Mexico, 
And  had  worn  civic  wreaths  in  later  years. 

Poor  John  T.  Hughes  made  graphic  pages  glow 
With  tributes  to  the  one,  until  he  heard 

His  name  a  household  word.     He  now  appears 

Unworthy  mention  in  heroic  verse. 


162 


The  other  was  preferred,  tho'  many  thought 
He  was  too  calm  amidst  the  storm  of  State ; 

A  few  malignants  whispered,  "  he  was  bought," 
Others  asserted  "  he  came  out  too  late  ; " 

But  faction,  at  his  name,  no  longer  sought 
To  offer  opposite  a  chief  so  great 

Any  less  noted  man  as  candidate — 

All  murmuring  approbation  left,  the  rest  to  Fate. 

And  soon — too  soon !  their  choice  was  put  to  test 
Upon  the  hard-won  ridge  called  Bloody  Hill ; 

Seven  desperate  charges  for  its  gory  crest 
Stained  every  inch  of  soil :  the  conflict  still 

Unchecked  in  fury,  when  that  leader  pressed 
On  in  the  front  rank — on,  and  on — until 

A  shout  burst  forth,  so  wild  and  deep  and  shrill — 

The  foe  fled  from  him  when  they  failed  to  kill. 

JSTo  triumph  ancient  Rome  allowed  to  those 

Who  conquered  Romans,  for  they  could  discern 

No  ground  for  glory  in  their  country's  woes ; 
But  when  their  land  by  civil  strife  was  torn, 

The  victor  and  the  vanquished  at  its  close 
Mingled  their  ashes  in  one  common  urn  ; 

And  shall  our  dear  Missouri  then  be  shorn 

Of  those  illustrious  wreaths  her  Price  has  worn  ? 


163 


Oak-Mil  and  Dry-wood,  Lexington,  Elkhorn, 

Beheld  his  valor,  strategy  and  zeal ; 
His  counsels  sage,  unheeded  by  Yan  Dorn, 

Of  fatal  sequence  to  Missouri's  weal. 
"With  fresher  bays  than  all  his  brow  adorn  ; 

Though  wounded,  he  made  no  complaint,  appeal, 
Or  criticism.    He  appeared  to  feel 
All  of  his  people's  wrongs,  yet  he  was  mute  as  steel. 

When  he  did  speak,  'twas  always  of  good  cheer, 
To  rouse  some  faint  one,  or  the  strong  to  nerve ; 

His  lips  ne'er  uttered  where  a  man  could  hear 
One  word  desponding,  or  whose  tone  might  swerve 

The  wavering  from  their  duty.    Rumors  drear 
He  treated  with  contempt,  as  they  deserve ; 

But  when  good  news  came,  he  would  make  it  serve 

To  arouse  the  soldiers,  and  his  hopes  preserve. 

From  Boston  Mountains,through  the  Cypress  slough, 
His  troops  through  storm,  thirst,  heat  and  cold  he 

Defied  the  climate,  and  abandoned  too  [led  ; 

The  land  to  ravishment  for  which  they  bled. 

Ah  !  cruel  trial  of  the  soldier  true, 

To  hear  his  wife  and  children  cry  for  bread, 

And  yet  his  march  resume  with  sickening  dread, 

For  brutal  Curtis  stays  to  burn  their  shed. 


161 


What  influence  was  it  of  the  loftier  kind 
Induced  the  brave,  thus  wronged,  to  be  controlled 

Was  it  alone  the  mastery  of  mind, 

Or  genius  dominant  o'er  common  mould  ? 

No  I  'twas  their  leader's  excellence,  combined 
With  "  Amor  patrice,"  pure,  unbought,  unsold  : 

For  Freedom's  sake,  thus  freeman  dare  to  hold 

Their  scorn  for  tyrants — their  contempt  for  gold. 

With  these,  obedient  to  his  country's  call, 
Our  gallant  chief  for  other  scenes  prepares  ; 

In  vain  the  brave  in  hosts  at  Shiloh  fall, 
New  hosts  supply  the  force  their  death  impairs. 

Missouri  bleeds — forsaken,  left  by  all — 
Her  sons  go  freely  where  the  bravest  dares  ; 

And  Farmington,  luka,  Corinth — bears 

The  world's  stern  history  a  tale  like  theirs  ? 

'Tis  no  part  of  my  purpose  to  detail 
The  varied  exploits  of  our  chief's  career. 

They  were  so  numerous  that  prose  would  fail, 
And  verse  much  more  inadequate  appear. 

Missourians  death- dealing  forts  assail, 
Missourians  when  Tie  led  them  knew  no  fear  ; 

By  foeman  dreaded  and  by  friends  held  dear, 

His  name  was  ever  welcomed  with  a  cheer. 


165 


Who  led  the  van  ?     Who  held  the  slow  retreat, 
With  stubborn  rage,  disputing  for  the  ground  ? 

Who  killed  the  picket — marched  the  midnight  beat, 
When  lonely  vigil  starts  at  every  sound  ? 

'Twas  those  who  followed  him  with  sorrowing  feet 
From  far  Missouri — land  of  home,  and  bound 

By  ties  more  dear  than  Tennessean  mound, 

Where  many  a  green  grave  has  since  then  been  found. 

Next  followed  scenes  of  warfare's  grandest  scale, 
Gigantic  armies  under  leaders  grand — 

Names  at  whose  mention  myriad  foes  turned  pale,  - 
Names  that  gave  dignity  to  Freedom's  band, 

Could  Beauregard,  Bragg,  Hardee,  Yan  Dorn  fail 
To  win  their  knightly  laurels  in  command  ? 

Or  Bowen,  Marmaduke,  Polk,  Forrest,  and 

The  other  champions  of  the  Southern  land  ? 

Armstrong  and  Chalmers,  Breckenridge  and  Green, 
Cheyburn  and  Maury,  Villipigue  and  Scott, 

Shelby  and  Morgan,  Parsons,  Little,  Stein  ? 
And  thousands  destined  to  obscurer  lot 

By  war's  stern  fortune,  yet  who  might  have  been 
Fame's  chosen  few — born  ne'er  to  be  forgot : 

Emmet  McDonald  was,  for  instance,  not 

Less  glorious  that  he  fell  in  youth  without  a  blot. 


166 


Corinth  and  Tupelo !  trivial  places  once, 
Till  rendered  classic  by  war's  tragic  strife, 

With  clanging  sabre,  and  deep  booming  guns' 
Re-echo  daily.    While  the  drum  and  fife, 

Drill  and  instruction,  change  the  rustic  dunce 
From  citizen  to  soldier,  till  his  life, 

Devoted  once  to  farm,  home,  babes  and  wife, 

Was  thus  prepared  for  scenes  of  conflict  rife. 

'Twas  there  in  muster,  skirmish  and  retreat, 
The  camp's  routine  soon  practical  became  ; 

The  midnight  vigil  and  the  sentry's  beat 
Seem  more  endurable,  and  far  less  tame 

When  lurking  rifles  watch  the  slightest  cheat ; 
As  hunters,  when  they  seek  for  dangerous  game, 

Are  cautious,  yet  alert.     Besides,  there  came 

Immense  reviews  to  fan  the  martial  flame. 

I  saw  a  man  among  the  titled  great, 

With  something  more  than  mortal  on  his  brow  ; 
Grandeur  was  stamped  there  by  the  hand  of  Fate, 

With  modest  dignity  that  could  not  bow, 
Nor  amidst  adversity  grow  elate.  [endow 

When  Fortune  smiled!     Does  gracious  Heaven 
Man  with  His  image  ?    Then  behold  it  now  ; 
That  face  blends  all  that  gods  to  men  allow. 


All  eyes  turned  on  him.    Men  of  higher  rank, 
Yet  less  renown,  appear  to  court  his  eye  ; 

Their  courtesy  recognized,  he  seems  to  thank 
His  soldiers  for  that  homage  chieftains  vie 

One  with  the  other  to  extend.     He  drank 
No  praises  for  himself.     Though  proud  and  high, 

Among  the  great  he  made  no  soldier  shy 

To  approach  the  man  whose  word  could  bid  them  die. 

Courtly  of  presence,  yet  the  private's  friend, 
He  signed  no  warrant  for  a  culprit's  blood. 

Anxious  the  line  that  loved  him  to  defend, 
Reckless  of  danger  to  himself  he  rode  ; 

And  never  was  his  tall  form  seen  to  bend 

When  smoky  battle  bathed  him  with  its  blood  ; 

But  merging  from  its  sulphurous  clouds,  he  stood 

Sublimely  calm,  defiant,  unsubdued. 

No  act  of  cruel  bloodshed  stains  his  life, 
Pardon  and  pity  fill  his  manly  breast ; 

A  hero  in  the  battle-field's  red  strife, 

His  captured  foe  became  at  once  his  guest ; 

And  he  would  bare  his  bosom  to  the  knife 
Before  the  weak,  by  stronger,  be  oppressed  ; 

Friend  to  the  sick,  the  wounded,  the  distressed, 

To  woman  courteous,  and  by  women  blessed. 


Magnanimous  lie  ever  was  to  foes — 
He  gave  back  gallant  Mulligan  his  sword  ; 

And  when  the  latter,  like  a  soldier,  chose 
Captivity,  in  place  of  honor  blurred 

(Refusing  a  parole),  the  wife  arose, 

And  asked  to  share  the  destiny  of  her  lord ; 

Tho'  troublesome  the  wish  which  she  implored, 

'Twas  granted  instantly — the  only  guard,  their  word. 

The  soldiers'  idol,  and  the  people's  friend, 
Office-fed  factionists  detest  his  name  ; 

No  place  so  high,  applause  will  not  offend, 
When  it  gives  promise  of  a  lasting  flame. 

The  great  Epaminondas  was  condemned 
By  envious  rivals  to  disgrace  and  shame ; 

The  names  have  perished  that  procured  him  blame, 

His  shines  unscorchedby  Time's  all- withering  flame. 

The  less  have  ruled  the  greater  many  a  time, 
As  history  of  politics  and  wars  both  show  ; 

Places  are  purchased ;  "  luck  "  and  sometimes  crime 
Win  high  success,  Macbeth-like,  by  a  blow. 

The  first  men  of  an  empire  seldom  climb 
Into  the  ruler's  office.     They  forego 

Ambition  that  must  rule  or  ruin — so 

If  self  be  uppermost,  they  care  not  who's  below. 


169 


Vox  populi^  some  ancient  wise  men  thought, 
Should  be  consulted  by  shrewd  "powers  that  be  ;  " 

Perhaps  if  this  old  rule  had  been  well  taught. 
The  British  Tories  would  have  saved  their  tea. 

But  sound  experience  always  must  be  bought, 
And  roundly  paid  for,  or  we  should  not  see 

The  very  blunders  of  last  century 

Repeated,  to  our  cost,  in  '63. 

Men  often  seek  for  places,  but  sometimes 
The  place  calls  loudly  for  some  fitting  man  ; 

And  this  vox  populi  absurdly  chimes 
Clamorous  approval  of  the  latter  plan. 

Wood,  Lovell,  Pemberton  and  Father  Grimes  ; 
ISTo  !  Mother  Holmes  I  mean,  and  others  can 

(I  beg  old  Grimes'  pardon)  prove  the  ban 

Of  putting  pigmies  out  beyond  their  span. 

Leaders  are  oftener  wrong  than  those  they  lead  ; 

Their  followers  see  when  they  have  missed  the  way, 
Avoid  the  sloughs  and  quicksands  that  impede, 

And  pass  the  paths  that  led  the  first  astray. 
Nations  are  happy  when  their  rulers  heed 

The  ruder  wisdom  of  the  race  they  sway ; 
Vox  populi  and  common  sense  dismay 
The  pets,  who  spoil — and  traitors  who  betray. 


170 


The  times  are  passed  that  drew  these  comments  forth, 
Great  men  for  errors  great  atonement  pay ; 

The  crushing  columns  of  the  mighty  North 
Have  swept  the  rulers  and  the  ruled  away. 

For  their  success,  perhaps  their  navy's  worth 
Did  more  than  fault  of  him  who,  doomed  to  pay, 

The  scapegoat  of  our  failure,  claims  to-day 

Our  tears,  to  illumine  his  prison's  gloomy  ray. 

The  West,  neglected,  called  its  hero  home, 
And  he  was  sent  as  grudging  gifts  are  cast ; 

Jealous  instructions,  such  as  ruined  Rome, 
Fettered  his  genius  and  his  plans  harassed ; 

Yet  he  was  welcomed  as  the  ocean  foam 
Thunders  its  greeting  to  Borean  blast : 

The  golden  time  for  his  return  had  passed, 

But  patriots  joyed  to  see  his  face  at  last. 

The  army  rallied  round  their  favorite  chief, 
Discouraged  skulkers  sought  the  ranks  again ; 

A  force  was  gathered  in  a  period  brief, 
By  far  too  large  for  Holmes'  contracted  brain. 

'Tis  said  a  lady  added  to  his  grief — 
Her  hand,  with  Helena,  he  might  attain. 

For  thy  sake,  cruel  Love,  were  never  slain 

Victims  more  noble  than  bedecked  that  plain. 


Remonstrance  was  fruitless.     It  was  urged 
That  such  a  force  as  ours  could  now  invade 

The  unwalled  towns  and  fields  Toy  foemen  scourged, 
Redeem  our  State,  and  gladden  every  maid 

Whose  absent  lover  had  thus  far  emerged 
Unscathed  from  danger.    But  who  can  persuade 

Against  the  homage  to  fair  woman  paid, 

Whose  bright  eyes  madden  most  just  as  they  fade  ? 

We  plead  in  vain.    And  added  to  the  shock 
Of  our  defeat  and  Yicksburg's  stubborn  fall, 

We  lost  the  valley — gave  up  Little  Rock — 
Desertion  hovered  o'er  us  as  a  pall. 

Like  men  condemned  to  die  upon  the  block 
Our  troops  retired,  deep  gloom  pervading  all ; 

Nor  did  they  rouse  till  Shelby's  bugle  call, 

At  Arkadelphia,  rang  through  camp  and  hall. 

Still  clogged  by  weakness  in  superior  rank, 
Of  many  a  fault  our  hero  stood  the  excuse  ; 

Some  pious  people  wondered  if  he  drank, 

Some  called  his  discipline  severe — some  loose  ; 

Some  criticised  the  front  and  some  the  flank, 
But  were  apologetic  in  abuse  ; 

At  last  they  cursed  Head- Quarters  like  the  deuce, 

And  wished  "  Old  Pap  "  would  carry  out  his  views. 


The  struggle  for  Red  River  next  "began, 
With  Commissary  Banks  and  Steel  combined ; 

One  in  the  North,  a  formidable  man — 
A  formidable  boast,  the  other  signed. 

But  Richard  Taylor  rather  spoiled  the  plan, 
On  all  sides,  for  before  K.  Smith  could  find 

An  equilibrium  suited  to  his  mind, 

He  Lad  Banks  whipped  and  scattered  to  the  wind. 

I  envy  not  the  laurels  any  wear, 

All  that  I  merit  are  already  mine ; 
But  I  despise  a  military  air, 

And  certain  "stuck-up"  ways  hard  to  define, 
Yet  easy  to  be  felt — and  hard  to  bear. 

Lieutenants  and  drum  majors  of  the  line 
Assume  becomingly  this  sort  of  shine, 
But  generals — when  plainest  are  most  fine. 

Hence,  West  Point  etiquette,  West  Point  red  tape, 
And  all  that  sort,  are  well  enough  in  place, 

But  cannot  make  a  soldier  of  an  ape— 
The  best  trained  mule  makes  but  a  shabby  race. 

Not  all  are  mourners  who  display  their  crape ; 
Church  members  are  not  always  sure  of  grace  ; 

A  dwarf  can  never  wield  a  giant's  mace ; 

Cadet  to  general,  is  not  mere  gilt  lace. 


173 


Price  laid  the  plan  to  capture  Steel  complete, 
And  had  not  interference  balked  his  aim 

No  Jenkins  Ferry  had  contrived  to  cheat 
The  victor  of  his  spoils.    But  it  did  seem 

A  little  too  provoking  that  a  fleet 

Should  vanish  slowly,  like  dissolving  steam, 

"While  the  same  meddling  that  broke  Taylor's  dream 

Should  shelter  hopeless  Steel  from  Price's  scheme. 

But,  like  a  gamester  who  has  saved  a  part 
Out  of  the  fortune  that  he  might  have  won, 

A  victory  of  deliverance  soothes  the  heart, 

Tho'  Shreveport  wept  for  many  a  dear  pale  son. 

From  robbed  plantations,  homes  and  cities  start 
The  baffled  foe's  red  flames,  and  columns  dun 

Shed  conflagration's  ruin  o'er  helpless  one, 

While  Yankee  ravage  puts  to  blush  the  Hun. 

Heroic  Allen  !     Governor  indeed  ! 

Louisiana  claims  thy  exiled  bones  ! 
Forever  foremost  at  the  time  of  need, 

Thy  stirring  voice  was  heard  in  thrilling  tones. 
No  knight  more  courtly  ever  mounted  steed, 

No  chevalier  a  purer  record  owns  ; 
Thy  gen'rous  hand  sooth'd  orphans'sighs  and  groans, 
Now  e'en  the  stranger  thy  hard  fate  bemoans. 


174 


But  why  enumerate  the  fatal  list. 

That  soon  or  late  fell  at  our  hero's  side  ? 

To  many  a  veteran  eye  'twould  bring  the  mist 
To  tell  howWeightman,  Rives,  Greene,  Erwin  died ; 

Or  Churchill,  Clarke  (the  boy  artillerist), 
Slack,  Porter,  Kirtley,  Farrington,  McBride, 

And  many  a  mother's  darling,  father's  pride, 

That  charged  where  Gates  or  Cockrell  desperate  ride. 

My  lay  would  have  no  end,  if  I  should  pause 
To  name  them  all,  for  naming  would  be  naught 

Unless  I  gave  my  reasons  for  applause. 

They  followed  Price,  and  if  that  name  is  fraught 

With  fame,  their  merit  was  in  part  the  cause. 
With  them  he  counselled — under  him  they  fought. 

If  pupils  of  his  camp  were  not  well  taught, 

Why  was  that  madcap  Shelby  never  caught  ? 

Shelby  !  ideal  of  the  modern  knight, 

Who  took  a  gun  boat  with  his  "  horse  marines !  " 
Most  daring  of  the  brave  in  stubborn  fight, 

Who  traversed  mountains,valleys,swamp,  ravines, 
King  of  two  rivers — Arkansas  and  White — 

His  name  revives  the  Involution's  scenes  : 
If  means  were  wanting,  he  invented  means, 
Capturing  his  outfits — even  to  canteens. 


175 


The  Southwest  quiet,  we  again  aspired 
To  wrest  Missouri  from  the  Eagle's  beak  : 

This  dream  Missourians'  heart  forever  fired  ; 
No  soldier  was  too  sick — no  horse  too  weak 

For  marching  when  this  darling  hope  inspired. 
It  made  a  paradise  of  mountain  bleak, 

Made  very  heroes  of  the  mild  and  meek, 

And  brought  a  livelier  flush  to  every  cheek. 

Advance  guard  of  the  moment,  thus  designed, 
The  restless  Shelby  seeks  his  old  domain ; 

Leaving  the  crushed  and  pent-up  foe  behind, 

On  Croly's  Ridge,  he  checked  his  war  steed's  rein — 

Captured  some  forts,  as  if  to  employ  his  mind, 
While  Price  was  coming  with  a  heavier  train  ; 

And  proved  in  deeds,  as  few  will  prove  again, 

The  vast  resources  of  his  fertile  brain. 

His  bread  on  boards,  his  meat  on  sticks,  was  cooked, 
No  tent  or  baggage  his  light  troops  impede ; 

He  struck  the  unwary  foe  when  least  they  looked, 
With  few  encountered  many  by  his  speed  ; 

No  long  delay  his  fiery  nature  brooked, 
No  fare  effeminate  his  followers  need  ; 

Their  jest  was  danger,  and  their  pride  the  steed, 

"  Old  Joe  "  their  idol — his  commands  their  creed. 


The  devious  windings  of  this  long,  last  march, 

'Twould  take  some  ingenuity  to  trace  ; 
The  storm  clouds  chill  us,  and  the  sunbeams  parch, 

Nights  of  unrest  to  dangerous  days  give  place  : 
The  attack,  the  pursuit,  the  capture  and  the  search — 
The  scout,  the  headlong  charge,  the  picket  chase — 
The  quick  surprise,  the  old  familiar  face- 
Sometimes  a  battle — and  sometimes  a  race. 

And  there  were  scenes  affecting  in  their  way — 
Our  people's  joy  was  every  where  intense  ; 

Some  long  had  waited  to  behold  that  day, 
Who  hailed  our  flag  as  their  deliverance. 

Wives  greeted  husbands  who  could  only  stay 
To  kiss  their  darlings  lingering  at  the  fence  ; 

And  dashing  oif  a  tear,  as  they  rode  thence, 

Invoked  God's  guardian  hand  in  their  defence. 

Sometimes,  alas  !  what  anguish  greets  the  brave ! 

Zealous  to  realize  long-hoped  delight, 
And  clasp  the  loved  ones  he  had  fought  to  save, 

As  he  drew  near  his  homestead's  cherished  site, 
Finds  ashes,  chimneys — and  perhaps  a  grave. 

Revenge  is  wrong ;  but  so  it  is  to  fight. 
The  law  of  human  nature  makes  it  right — 
Sweet  to  the  smiter  is  the  chance  to  smite. 


If  some  took  desperate  reckoning  for  such  acts, 
It  was  their  only  pathway  to  redress  : 

To  those  who  knew  the  aggravating  facts, 
Always  concealed  by  mercenary  press, 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  Federals'  track 
Miss  Anderson's  avenger  should  harass  : 

Quantrell  and  Todd  could  scarcely  have  done  less— 

The  very  tiger  heeds  its  cubs'  distress. 

[spared, 
Sometimes  they  struck  when  soldiers  would  have 

But  they  no  soldiers'  quarter  were  allowed ; 
No  Mameluke  or  Tartar  would  have  dared 

Their  Ishmaelite  defiance,  fierce  and  proud : 
Their  lives  were  those  of  men  who  had  despaired, 

Stung  mad  their  breasts  with  morbid  passions 
Each  belt  with  eight  revolvers  was  prepared-  [crowd, 
Alike  the  informer,  spy  and  red-leg  fared, 

I  do  not  justify  their  lawless  course — 
They  sought  no  sympathy,  and  little  felt ; 

Their  citadel,  the  brush  ;  their  steed,  their  force  ; 
Keen  eye,  their  guard  ;  their  arsenal,  their  belt ; 

But  still  their  deeds  atrocious  had  their  source 
In  wrongs  more  savage  than  of  Dane  or  Celt ; 

Before  Nemesis  in  their  vows  they  knelt, 

And  outraged  woman  urged  the  blows  they  dealt. 


178 


Such  outlaws  Righteous  Judgment  ever  sends, 
As  Heaven's  peculiar  curse  on  civil  war. 

Let  condemnation  rest  on  who  offends, 
ISTot  one  of  these  had  followed  Price  afar  : 

If  by  his  presence  they  conserved  their  ends, 
'Twas  not  his  fault,  and  should  not  dim  his  star. 

Their  violence  no  rule  but  one  could  bar — 

Each  band's  own  chief  was  sovereign  as  a  Czar. 

"We  give  back  those  who  love  us  not  their  hate, 
The  veriest  cur  is  fierce  when  turned  at  bay  ; 

The  power  to  conquer  does  not  indicate 
The  right  to  trample,  or  the  right  to  slay. 

Despairing  cowards  will  assassinate  ; 
But  things  of  courage,  hopeless  of  fair  play, 

Will  turn  like  Sampson  driven  to  dismay, 

And  perish  frenzied — flinging  life  away. 

Once  more  we  left  Missouri  to  her  fate — 
Baffled  by  numbers,  all  our  toil  was  vain  ; 

Once  more  our  weakness  drove  us  from  the  State, 
Too  long  resigned  to  hostile  bayonets'  reign. 

There  was  no  record  of  our  triumphs  great, 
A  servile  press  insulted  e'en  the  slain  ; 

But  deeds  of  gallantry  on  many  a  plain 

Atoned  our  sole  defeat  and  soothed  our  pain. 


179 


Hail,  Kansas  !  State  of  congregated  thieves  ! 

We  took  one  blow  at  thee  in  passing  by  ; 
Thy  "  loyalty  "  for  "  martyred  "  murderers  grieves, 

And  John  Brown's  ghost  is  worshiped  with  a  sigh. 
Jayhawking  robbers  of  Missouri  beeves, 

Thy  Senatorial  honors  bear  on  high  ; 
"  Treason  "  in  cloth  of  widow's  loom  ye  spy  ; 
In  aught  worth  carrying  off,  "  conspiracy !  " 

Our  march  was  called  a  failure  and  a  "  raid," 
Head -quarters  met  our  hero  with  a  frown- 
Ignored  the  unselfish  greatness  he  displayed, 

And  sought  to  pluck  the  chaplets  from  his  crown. 
In  vain  attempts  to  censure  him  were  made 

With  footmen  faint,  who  rode  his  chestnut  brown, 
When  he  to  rest  them  on  their  way  got  down, 
And  walked  to  make  the  soldier's  fare  his  own. 

Deep  indignation  sided  with  our  chief. 

He  asked  investigation.    But  why  trace 
The  sickening  sequel  ?    'Twould  renew  our  grief ; 

To  Lee's  surrender  lesser  woes  gave  place. 
The  struggle  had  been  long — the  close  was  brief ; 

He  sought,  first,  clemency  for  his  lost  race, 
And  then  toward  foreign  land  he  sets  his  face, 
And  chooses  exile  rather  than  disgrace. 


180 


Thou  who  could'st  bid  thy  marksmen  spare  a  foe, 
Because  he  rode  out  boldly  and  alone  ! 

Thou  who  a  captured  million  didst  bestow 
Back  to  its  vault,  the  Bank  of  Lexington  ! 

It  wrings  our  hearts  to  think  of  thee  in  woe, 
Old,  and  impoverished,  'neath  a  foreign  sun. 

The  brave  forgive  the  brave.    What  thou  hast  done 

America  will  claim.     Then  claim  thine  own  ! 

Come  back  !  to  those  who  yearn  to  take  thy  hand, 
Let  our  entreaties  thy  resolves  entice  ; 

Come  to  thy  cherished  friends,  and  native  land — 
A  good  example  is  the  best  advice. 

A  born  commander  can  obey  commands  ; 

Opposing  chiefs  have  urged  thy  pardon  twice  ; 

Thy  very  foes  have  termed  thee  "  free  from  vice  " 

"  Pure  but  mistaken  patriot " — Sterling  Price  ! 

I  write  for  Southern  people.    But,  perhaps, 
Some  one  with  candor  left  to  hear  both  sides. 

Who  did  not  sympathize  with  our  collapse, 
And  feels  no  pity  now,  what  ill  betides, 

Will  read  this  story  of  disjointed  scraps, 
And  think  its  measures  mere  poetic  strides. 

The  author  to  the  future  faith  confides  ; 

The  truth  of  all  things  time  at  last  decides. 


181 


The  great  will  live,  no  matter  who  defames, 
As  mighty  structures  rise  above  earth's  slime  ; 

And  when  the  day  comes  to  recount  proud  names, 
Kenowned  for  virtue  in  an  age  of  crime, 

And  free  from  passion  men  discuss  the  claims 
That  made  "  almost  a  nation  "  sound  sublime, 

Then  those  who  love  Missouri,  in  that  time 

Will  see  preserved  true  memories  in  their  rhyme. 

My  strong  hand  trembles  as  I  seize  the  pen, 

And  feel  it  all  inadequate  to  show 
The  glories  of  those  great  and  gifted  men, 

Whose  names  so  feebly  in  these  measures  glow. 
Let  each  who  knew  them  pay  his  tribute  then, 

And  genius  will  in  proper  time  bestow 
Some  writer,  like  the  bards  of  long  ago, 
With  power  to  tell  well  for  us  what  we  know. 

Ah !  how  I  covet  this  condensive  power, 
This  gift  conferred  by  Nature  on  so  few ! 

That  I  might  rescue  from  oblivion's  tower, 
And  hold  the  virtues  forth  in  living  hue, 

Of  those  we  loved,  but  lost  in  luckless  hour ! 
Names  of  illustrious  dead,  whose  names  imbue 

Their  age  with  chivalry — imparting  too 

Renown  to  those  who  such  a  race  subdue. 


182 


Fond  memory  lingers,  wishing  all  undone 
That  gives  our  country  glory  at  such  cost — 

Gives  back  the  weeping  mother  her  dear  son, 
And  mourning  maid  the  lover  she  has  lost. 

But  God,  who  orders  all  things  from  his  throne, 
Gives  us  the  harvest — but  he  sends  the  frost ; 

Even  His  chosen,  for  wise  ends  He  crossed, 

And  He  chastises  where  He  loves  the  most. 

No  triumph  ancient  Rome  allowed  to  those 

Who  conquered  Romans,  for  they  could  discern 

No  ground  for  glory  in  their  country's  woes  ; 
But  when  their  land  by  civil  strife  was  torn, 

The  victor  and  the  vanquished  at  its  close 
Mingled  their  ashes  in  one  common  urn  ; 

And  shall  our  dear  Missouri  then  be  shorn 

Of  those  illustrious  wreaths  her  Price  has  worn  ? 

Those  times  are  past.    But  ere  I  close  this  page, 
One  word  to  those  who  have  this  story  read  : 

I  write  not  in  resentment,  but  to  assuage 
Our  captive  grief  for  joys  forever  fled. 

This  sacred  privilege  should  not  enrage 

Our  recent  foemen.     They  but  mourn  their  dead. 

Much  more  we  suffer ;  but  when  both  have  bled, 

Mutual  forgiveness  mutual  peace  must  shed. 


183 


Then  let  Americans  implore  High  Heaven 
To  look  in  mercy  on  our  stricken  land ; 

Let  good  men  bind  where  wicked  men  have  riven, 
And  learn  a  lesson  from  affliction's  hand. 

Forgiving,  as  they  wish  to  be  forgiven, 
May  party  spirit  flee  from  Freedom's  band, 

And  yielding  homage  unto  Grod's  command, 

United  millions  round  one  altar  stand. 


THE  UNION  SOLDIER. 

[Respectfully  dedicated  to  Gen.  F.  P.  Blair.] 

He  fought,  as  he  supposed,  to  save 

The  Union  and  its  cause, 
And  struck  to  liberate  the  slave 

Against  oppressive  laws  ; 
But  when  he  saw  the  slave  he  freed 

Turn  on  his  prostrate  owner — 
A  pinioned  captive — 'twas  a  deed 

That  shocked  a  soldier's  honor. 

The  breast  he  bared  to  battle's  frown 
Sought  none  but  standing  foes  ; 


184 


And  when  his  enemy  was  down, 
His  strife  was  at  its  close. 

Oppression's  foe  is  always  brave, 
In  triumph  or  disaster ; 

His  mission  is  to  free  the  slave, 
Not  crush  the  prostrate  master. 

1867. 


"UMBRAE  NOCTIS.'' 

Night  was  not  meant  alone  for  those 

Who,  lulled  in  sleep,  forget  their  woes  ; 

But  hearts  that  glow  with  hidden  fire, 

To  solitude  and  shade  retire, 

To  mock  repose  with  smothered  sighs, 

While  slumber  waits  on  drowsy  eyes, 

Where  hopeless  shrines  in  secret  rise, 

To  expiate  unuttered  cries, 

That,  checked  through  all  the  crowded  day, 

At  last  to  agony  give  way. 

Blest  night !  when  hid  from  curious  gaze, 
Love's  fervid  flame  may  leap  and  blaze  ; 
And  flowers  that  far  away  have  bloomed 
Still  soothe  the  soul  to  torture  doomed. 


135 


When  reckless  of  perdition's  brink, 
Within  themselves  the  feelings  sink — 
When  every  sense  grows  faint  and  dim, 
And  sorrow's  cup  o'erflows  its  brim, 
Till  lost  to  all,  but  those  bright  eyes 
That  peer  like  stars  'twixt  clouded  skies, 
One  blissful  phantom  fills  the  sight, 
That  smiles— then  flies— and  all  is  night. 

Ah  !  woman  !  woman !  false  or  true. 
The  manliest  brain  thou  dost  subdue ; 
And  quiet  vengeance  clothes  thy  form 
With  deeper  dread  than  battle's  storm. 
The  man  who  injures  thy  repose, 
In  vain  would  laugh  away  his  woes  ; 
In  vain,  midst  gay  companions,  tries 
To  drown  remorse  with  revelries. 
Fly  to  distraction  as  he  will, 
Thy  pallid  face  pursues  him  still ; 
And  every  pang  he  caused  thy  breast 
Will  rob  his  bosom  of  its  rest — 
Till  joyless,  phrensied  and  undone, 
Nemesis  haunts  him  when  alone  ; 
And  when  with  others  he  is  gay, 
His  callous  air  will  still  betray 


186 


Some  lingering  torture  of  regret, 
He  never — never — can  forget. 

The  recreant  wife,  or  truant  maid, 
That  he  has  sought  for  and  betrayed, 
May  think  that  she  alone  endures 
Grief  that  repentance  never  cures  ; 
But  ah !  the  wretch  who  wrought  the  crime, 
And  scorned  compunction  for  a  time, 
Will  some  day  die — for  die  he  must — 
And  then,  for  every  forfeit  trust, 
Around  his  dying  couch  will  stand, 
With  pointing  finger,  icy  hand, 
Each  form  whose  innocence  he  wronged  ; 
And  Retribution,  though  prolonged, 
Will  visit  round  his  sabled  hearse, 
The  echo  of  their  ghostly  curse ! 

St.  Louis,  Feb.  13,  1867. 


GOOD  IN  SEEMING  EVIL. 

Troy  fell,  and  her  fugitives  fled  from  her  flames, 
And  founded  an  empire  that  conquered  the  world ; 

And  vanquished  Jerusalem  homage  still  claims, 
Wherever  a  civilized  flag  is  unfurled. 


187 


Leonidas  died  with  his  brave  Spartan  band, 
But  Freedom  survived  her  best  children's  defeat ; 

And  he  who  at  Waterloo  lost  his  command, 
Through  exile  and  death  made  his  triumph  com- 
plete. 

Then  weep  not  for  those  who  for  Liberty  fell, 
Resisting  oppression  too  cruel  to  name  ; 

They  share  not  a  bondage  too  loathsome  too  tell— 
The  glory  is  theirs— they  know  not  our  shame. 


To  OUR  SOUTHERN  BELLES. 

Though  the  gems  from  your  caskets,  so  ruthlessly 

torn 
By  the  belles  of  the  North,  may  be  trophied  and 

worn; 

Yet  the  jewels  they  took  were  not  jewels  we  prize, 
For  their  splendor  remains  in  the  flash  of  your  eyes. 

Though  your  fathers'  plantations  lie  barren   and 

black, 

Yet  your  riches  remain — all  the  riches  we  seek  ; 
For  your  smiles  of  appoval  a  dowry  impart, 
In  the  far  vaster  wealth  of  a  welcoming  heart. 


188 


Tho'  insults  and  wrong  plunged  your  households  in 

gloom — 

Past  the  blows  that  we  struck  to  avert  such  a  doom- 
Yet  we  read  a  reproof  for  dejection  and  sighs 
In  the  trust  in  to-morrow  that  leaps  from  your  eyes. 

Tho'  the  cause  that  we  pledged  in  our  vows  to  defend, 
And  the  banners  we  bore,  in  submission  must  bend ; 
Yet  forgive  us  our  sin,  if  our  woe  we  forget 
In  your  smiles  of  "  well-done  "  and  "  there's  hope 
even  yet." 

Tho'  now  we've  no  coachman  to  send  with  our  note 
(For  the  North  has  found  need  for  his  wisdom  and 

vote), 

Yet  the  fellow  who  bears  it  I  reckon  will  do, 
As  he  serves  me  quite  well  since  he  left  off  the  blue. 

Brave  girls  of  the  South— brightest  gems  of    the 

earth — 

To  a  cowardly  race  you  can  never  give  birth  ; 
And  'tis  you  that  as  Liberty's  altar  expires, 
Like  the  vestals  of  old,  will  rekindle  its  fires. 


189 


Since  we  fought  for  our  honor,  and  not  for  applause, 
Tho'  vanquished,  we  cling  to  the  wreck  of  our  laws  ; 
And  like  Spartans  will  utter  no  cry  of  distress, 
NOT  a  word  of  contrition  our  sealed  lips  express. 

ST.  Louis,  1867. 


CONSOLATION. 

JSTo  flower  to  dewy  morn  awakes 

But  some  rude  hand  will  pluck  the  gem, 

Regardless  of  the  wreck  it  makes 
Around  the  ruined  stem. 

So  beauty,  love,  and  all  we  prize, 
Some  tempter  hastens  to  destroy ; 

So  Satan  entered  Paradise, 
When  all  seemed  peace  and  joy. 

So  eyes  that  win,  and  lips  that  smile, 
Are  those  that  soonest  will  betray  ; 

Like  serpent  glances,  that  beguile, 
Then  seize  upon  their  prey. 


190 


When  thus  from  earth's  attractions  driven, 
The  soul  is  taught  deception's  smart, 

Faith  whispers  "  there's  a  love  in  Heaven 
That  satisfies  the  heart." 

ST.  Louis,  May  15,  1867. 


EPITAPH  TO  BE  PLACED  ON  MY  TOMB. 

Let  him  who  looks  upon  this  spot 
Remember  soon  'twill  be  his  lot, 
And  judge  with  gentleness,  if  he 
Would  ask  his  Maker's  lenity. 

July  14,  1867. 


THOUGHTS  OF  HEAVEN. 

At  times  the  soul  elastic  springs 
From  contact  with  its  parent  sod, 

And  borne  upon  devotion's  wings 
Soars  upward  toward  its  God  ! 

Forgotten  then  the  cares  of  life, 

With  nobler  thoughts  our  bosoms  swell, 

Which  raise  us  far  above  earth's  strife, 
That  drags  us  down  to  hell. 


191 


Would  that  this  elevated  mood 
Could  oftener  visit  my  poor  heart, 

And  bid  in  holy  solitude 
All  grosser  thoughts  depart. 

Then  would  I  realize  the  dream 
That  makes  eternity  appear 

More  blest  than  all  that  mortals  deem 
Of  earthly  bliss  most  dear. 

Sunday  Night— Aug.  25,  1867. 


SAD  STORY  IN  VERSE  OF  "  THE  DOG  AND  THE 

RAKE." 

A  wild  rake  flew  from  Washington, 
And  brought  his  dog  to  Jefferson  ; 
And  when  they  reached  the  latter  town 
They  called  for  chairs — and  rake  sat  down. 

And  strange  indeed  it  was  to  see 
The  dog,  with  collar  marked  "  C.  D.," 
Lay  at  the  rake's  feet  his  every  bone, 
Although  the  rake  was  not  alone. 


192 


And  then  this  dog  got  in  a  fight, 
And  rake  rushed  in  with  all  his  might ; 
And  dealing  blows  both  fair  and  foul, 
He  even  made  his  own  dog  howl. 

But  soon  the  tide  began  to  turn, 
And  rake,  forlorn,  began  to  yearn, 
For  lone  he  found  himself — bereft, 
But  many  a  howler  still  was  left. 

That  he  might  then  the  row  appease, 
He  called  aloud  "  Let  us  have  peace !  " 
Alas  !  too  late :  the  die  was  cast — 
That  rake's  poor  dog  must  breathe  his  last. 

This  made  them  only  laugh  right  well, 
A  laugh  that  rake  declared  a  yell ; 
But  when  his  temper  was  restored, 
It  was  his  dog  the  cheers  had  bored. 

This  seedy  rake,  now  left  alone — 
Because  his  dog  was  dead  and  gone — 
He'd  jumped  to  fire  from  frying-pan, 
A  sadder,  if  not  wiser  man  ! 


MORAL. 

When  any  boy  has  cake  enough, 
For  that  one  boy  to  eat,  he  errs 
If  he  behaves  himself  too  rough, 
And  takes  from  other  boys  their  Sclmrz. 


DECORATION  DAY  AT  ARLINGTON, 

Let  Arlington  have  peace, 

With  flowers  each  tomb  begem  : 
What  scattering  graves  are  these? 

Who  is  it  weeps  o'er  them  ? 
A  few  lie  buried  here 

For  whom  pure  tears  are  shed, 
By  mourners  all  sincere 

In  grieving  for  their  dead. 

The  lambs  who  went  astray, 

Too  near  the  butcher's  shed, 
A  few  who  wore  the  grey 

Rest  here  close  where  they  bled. 
They  perished  near  this  spot, 

Brave  martyrs  to  their  cause  ; 
They  fought  for  nothing  not 

Vouchsafed  them  by  the  laws. 


194 


What !  rebel-grief  be  shown 

So  near  the  Royal  Court  ? 
Offensive  to  the  throne, 

These  vile  ill-mannered  sort ! 
Dare  they  come  here  with  flowers  ? 

"  Be  soft,  dear  sir,  we  pray ; 
This  custom,  sir,  is  ours ; 

You  stole  it  from  the  grey." 

God  bids  the  flowers  to  blow, 

The  dew  and  rain  to  fall, 
The  sun  to  shine,  brooks  flow, 

Alike  for  one  and  all. 
But  grief  belongs  alone 

To  favored  ones  at  Court : 
"  Brave  soldiers — bayonets  down 

That  rebel  mourner's  throat !  " 

Strew  salt  upon  the  sod, 

Imperial,  marine, 
That  even  nature's  God 

Deck  no  wrong  grave  with  green. 
Do  robbers  dread  their  slain, 

Lay  bare  their  tombs  to  hate  ? 
These  forms  may  rise  again, 

Retributive  as  fate. 


195 


Post  guards  at  every  grave, 

Despoil  each  garnished  mound  ; 
Proud  sentinel,  armed  slave, 

Guard  well  the  stolen  ground. 
Suppress  these  rebels'  grief, 

Let  Arlington  be  glad  ; 
How  dare  their  plundered  chief 

O'er  kindred  bones  be  sad  ? 

Why  should  not  rebels'  grief 

On  Arlington  be  shown  ? 
For  who  but  Lee,  their  chief, 

These  goodly  acres  own  ? 
Ancestral  rebel  sires 

Once  wrested  this  same  land 
From  royal  occupiers, 

Imperial  guardsman  stand. 

Through  treason  to  the  crown, 

To  rightful  flag  and  king, 
Tradition  has  brought  down 

The  rights  to  which  we  cling. 
The  loyal  were  despised 

Two  generations  past ; 
And  rebels  then  comprized 

Nobility's  true  caste. 


196 


The  lessons  of  to-day 

To  future  times  belong ; 
See  how  the  robbers  pay 

For  their  successful  wrong. 
Rest,  noble  friends  of  Lee, 

Eternally  repose ; 
Sleep  where  your  ghosts  can  see 

Whole  hecatombs  of  foes. 

May,  1869. 


YEARNINGS. 

Earth  and  fame  are  a  troubled  dream  ; 

Tell  me  for  what  is  the  heart  still  yearning  : 
Wealth  and  renown  are  riot  what  they  seem 

To  the  soul  that  in  vain  is  for  them  burning. 
All  that  the  world  can  do  is  done, 

All  it  can  give  is  mine ; 
But  the  eyes  look  up  to  the  moon,  and  sun. 

And  the  stars  that  above  us  shine  ; 
And  a  thrill  and  a  pang  possess  the  heart, 
And  despair  comes  back  with  a  flash-like  start, 
To  teach  how  small  a  thing  is  life. 
If  this  is  the  end  and  aim  of  strife — 


197 


This  worthless,  vain,  vexatious  story, 

In  a  world  so  tame,  so  drear — 

So  "brambled  o'er  with  fear, 
With  naught  secure,  but  that  all  must  end — 
Before  we  begin  to  comprehend 

The  simplest  end  of  being, 
With  every  thing  so  flushed  with  doubt, 
That  sight  itself  is  deceived  about 

The  thing  it  believes  'tis  seeing. 

June  29,  1869. 


STRIVINGS. 

Striving  for  something  that  cannot  be, 

Longing  for  what  can  ne'er  be  won  ; 

Trying  to  sound  some  fathomless  sea, 

Climb  to  the  moon,  or  soar  to  the  sun  ; 
Struggling  to  lift  some  moveless  weight, 
Battling  against  the  laws  of  Fate ; 
Searching  to  find  what  none  can  show, 
Seeking  to  know  what  none  can  know ; 
Tasking  the  brain,  the  hand,  the  heart, 
Beyond  all  nature,  beyond  all  art : 
Such  are  the  things  that  shorten  the  breath 
Of  fretful  man,  on  his  march  to  death. 


198 


And  yet  there  are  many  things  under  the  sun, 

That  men,  who  fail,  might  do  right  well ; 
Things  that  would  pay  if  right  well  done, 

And  worthy  of  those  who  failed  and  fell. 
Working  away  with  patient  toil, 
To  wrest  new  fruits  from  the  virgin  soil ; 
Plodding  along  with  quiet  zeal, 
To  make  some  sad  heart  lighter  feel ; 
Planning  home  comforts  for  those  we  love, 
Searching  and  working  and  looking  above : 
Such  are  the  things  that  man  can  do, 
To  sweeten  the  lives  of  many  and  few. 


IN  AN  ALBUM. 

One  word  I'll  leave  before  we  part, 

Upon  this  spotless  page  ; 
One  word  that  may  thy  faithful  heart, 

When  absent,  love,  engage  ; 
A  word  whose  music,  like  a  spell, 

Shall  rival  every  sense, 
And,  near  or  far,  shall  ever  tell 

Of  love's  sweet  recompense. 


199 


What  shall  that  word  so  potent  be, 
To  thus  all  things  combine, 

Save  this,  that  near  or  far  from  thee, 
Still  darling,  I  am  "  Thine  ? " 

October  3,  1869. 


THE  BEST. 

Of  gems — the  diamond  I'd  wear  ; 
Of  jewels — naught  but  cameos  rare  ; 
Of  friends — I'd  chose  the  one  most  true  ; 
Of  enemies — the  knightliest  too ; 
Of  drinks — I'd  take  the  royal  wine  ; 
Of  robes — the  purple  hue  divine  ; 
Of  air — the  freshest ;  metals — gold  ; 
Of  followers — hearts  devout  and  bold  ; 
Of  one  to  love — by  land  or  sea, 
Afar  or  near,  I'd  have  but  thee. 

October  20,  1869. 


EL  LEON  PENCIDO  POREL  HOMBRE. 

x 

Cierto  artifice  pinto. 

Una  lucha  en  que  valiente 


200 


Un  hombre  tan  solamente 
A  un  horrible  leon  vencio  : 
Otro  leon  quel  el  cuadro  vio 
Sin  preguntar  por  su  autor 
En  tono  despreciedor 
Dijo  !  bien  se  deja  de  ver 
Que  es  pintar  como  querer. 
Z  no  fue  Leon  el  pintor. 

TRANSLATION. 

An  artist  in  the  days  bygone 

Painted  a  fight,  in  which  a  man, 
In  valiant  struggle  all  alone, 

Vanquished  a  lion  fierce  and  tan. 
Another  lion  saw  the  work, 

And  straight  without  a  question  said, 
With  a  contemptuous  tone  and  smirk  : 

"  'Tis  easy  here  to  see  who  spread 
His  wishes  on  the  canvas  centre ; 

'Tis  plain  no  lion  was  the  painter." 

Adversity,  it  is  said,  hath  its  uses.  I  doubt  that;  but  while 
testing  the  preference  I  had  for  exile  in  Mexico  over  Yankee  dom- 
ination, I  studied  Spanish.  Among  other  consoling  things  I  found 
an  old  fable,  a  translation  of  which  I  respectfully  dedicate  to  the 
newspaper  reporters  of  the  North. 

November  9,  1869. 


201 


A  SUNDAY  EVENING  REVERIE. 

If  God  makes  useful  all  that  He  has  made, 

When  earth's  ephemeral  human  race  and  earth 

Have  been  and  perished  in  the  laspe  of  time, 

What  use  can  come  of  thoughtful  souls  in  hell 

If  doubts  require  persuasion  more  than  faith  ? 

For  'tis  a  simpler  task  to  yield  belief. 

And  give  no  reason  for  the  act  of  faith, 

Than  give  good  reason  for  suggested  doubt ; 

Yet  have  some  doubts  a  force  we  meet  in  vain — 

Lives  come  into  the  world  and  pass  away. 

Whence  come  we  ?  and  what  are  we  ?  whither  bound? 

The  source,  creation,  is  beyond  our  ken  ; 

And  what  we  are  none  know,  yet  all  discourse— 

And  whither  are  we  bound  God  knows,  not  we. 

We  argue  for  eternal  life,  because 

It  hurts  our  starveling  vanity  to  die ; 

Yet  no  assurance  e'er  comes  back  to  us 

From  the  unknown  hereafter,  save  the  strains 

Of  weird  imagination,  and  a  faith 

Rewarding  our  belief  without  a  proof, 

Of  things  so  doubtful  that  all  proofs  we  have 

Are  like  the  miracles  ascribed  to  Jove. 


202 


He  moulded  with  antiquity  and  the  mist 

Of  heathen  priest-craft,  and  the  fabled  tales 

Of  Roman  or  Egyptian  auguries  ; 

And  yet  if  these  convince  not,  we  are  told, 

Quite  curtly  too,  sometimes  with  curse  and  threat, 

Belief  is  right  without  a  reason  why ; 

But  reasoning  without  faith  is  heresy. 

Is  not  intelligence  the  immortal  part  ? 

Shall  stupid  goodness  outlive  daring  wit, 

And  from  the  fixed  emoluments  of  heaven 

Soar  forth  to  visit  on  angelic  wings 

The  worlds  that  wicked  doubters  scoffed  while  here, 

Revealing  laws  of  God's  organic  skill, 

And  yet  the  knowing  ones  be  chained  in  hell, 

Able  to  teach  what  angels  need  to  know, 

Yet  cast  in  useless  darkness  to  endure 

The  torture  they  would  ne'er  inflict  on  brutes, 

Because  they  were  too  wise  to  gloat  on  pain  ? 

'Tis  a  strange  doctrine  that  to  doubt  is  death, 

Yet  not  more  strange  than  that  belief  is  life. 

Both  faith  and  reason  are  the  gifts  of  God — 

"Use  one,  ignore  the  other  ;  "  madmen  cry 

"  Believe  or  die  ; "  for  if  you  can't  believe, 

Your  death  is  well  deserved,  because  you  can't 


203 


Believe,  because  you  do  believe,  and  go 
Straight  up  to  heaven  for  service  by  and  by, 
Where  such  intelligence  as  this  implies 
Tends  fit  employment  in  celestial  love. 
And  yet  can  they  say  this  who  say  they  think 
That  God's  all  governing  control  is  such 
That,  infinite  in  being  and  in  power, 
He  moulds  all  to  His  will,  as  plastic  clay 
Is  moulded  by  the  deft  designer's  touch. 

November  21,  1869. 


To  the  memory  of  that  promising  and  untimely  fate  member  of  the 
St.  Louis  bar, 

MR.  JABEZ  L.  NORTH. 

Without  a  foe,  without  a  fear, 
Without  a  fault,  a  man  sincere 

In  all  he  thought  and  said  ; 
His  was  the  loftiest,  manly  aim — 
A  useful  life,  devoid  of  blame, 

Unselfish,  brave,  well-bred. 

Whate'er  that  future  state  may  be, 
When  friends,  revivified,  shall  see 


204 


The  friends  held  dear  on  earth ; 
Dear  North !  thy  soul  will  join  that  band 
Who  love,  in  that  celestial  land, 

Refinement,  sense  and  worth. 

ST.  Louis,  Jan.  9,  1870. 


TO  

Oh  !  lady,  list  the  voice  of  one 

Who  would  not  lift  a  note  of  praise, 
If  ontward  loveliness  alone 

Required  the  tribute  of  his  lays  ; 
But  when  both  heart  and  soul  unite 

To  give  to  beauty's  fleeting  spell 
A  charm  unutterably  bright, 

A  something  of  immortal  light, 
No  gifted  tongue  can  tell- 
How  can  I  longer  silent  be  ? 

Yet  while  I  speak  would  counsel  still, 
That  now  and  ever,  fixed  in  thee. 

Eternal  truth  may  guide  thy  will ! 
So  thoughts  that  in  my  bosom  rest, 

Soft  heaving  to  a  shrine  so  fair, 


Shall  be  with  holy  fragrance  blest, 
As  dew-drops  on  the  lily's  breast 
Imbibe  a  sweetness  there ! 

Thus  with  a  strength  beyond  thy  years, 

In  simple  majesty  of  worth, 
Thy  soul  shall  tower  above  the  fears 

And  changing  circumstance  of  earth. 
Amid  the  cares  that  most  annoy, 

Thou  shalt  in  fadeless  beauty  shine  ; 
For  surely  these  cannot  destroy, 

Nor  stain  the  part  without  alloy, 
The  part  which  is  divine  ! 

January  16th,  1870. 


HOME-SUNDAY, 

To  sing,  and  be  happy  in  singing, 

The  songs  the  cold-hearted  disdain — 
To  spring,  and  be  cheerful  in  springing, 

To  soothe  the  distressed  in  their  pain — 
To  give,  and  be  joyful  in  giving, 

Relief  to  the  wretched  and  weak — 
Is  life,  while  we  live  worth  the  living, 

Though  all  the  world  round  us  be  bleak. 

Jan.  20,  1870. 


ARCANA. 

The  golden  glow  of  evening  rays, 
Imprisoned  by  the  burnished  clouds, 

Is  milder  than  the  mid- day  blaze 

Of  beams  that  flood  the  noon  in  crowds. 

And  thus  the  secret  joys  we  build, 

Restricted  boundaries  though  they  own, 

Are  rosier  than  the  hues  that  gild 
The  glare  of  full-day's  gaudy  throne. 

Feb.  24,  1870— In  U.  S.  District  Court  Room. 


To  A  FIFTEENTH  AMENDMENT  POLITICIAN- 
GO  breathe  the  Afric  scented  air, 

Frequent  polluted  spots, 
Caress  the  rabble  every- where, 

Be  friends  with  drunken  sots. 

Be  called  "  great  man  "  by  lousy  knaves, 

Until  you  think  it  true  ; 
Nor  stop  to  think  that  Satan  paves 

All  hell  with  such  as  you. 


207 


Shrink  from  the  gaze  of  decent  men, 
Compound  with  vice  and  shame  ; 

Get  office,  steal,  take  gifts,  and  then 
Call  this  success  and  fame. 

April  14,  1870. 


LINES. 

[To  an  Imaginary  Being.] 

Far  in  the  night  I  scan  the  bending  sky, 
To  tind  the  star  of  purest,  brightest  ray  ; 

To  center  there  the  worship  of  mine  eye, 
Unheeding  all  the  orbs  that  round  it  play  : 

So  through  the  empyrean  of  my  thoughts  I  turn, 

And  all  save  one  fair  planet  thence  I  spurn. 

Far  in  the  night,  when  vigil  lone  I  keep, 

When  eyes  hold  tears  that  lend  the  cheek  a  smile, 

When  foot-falls  cease,  and  songs  are  hushed  in  sleep, 
My  soul  takes  wing,  and  flies  to  thee  awhile  ; 

To  hover  o'er  thee,  wheresoe'er  thou  art, 

And  seek  its  image  mirrored  in  the  heart. 

Far  in  the  night  an  influence  I  feel, 

That  links  the  mountain,  river,  lake,  and  plain 


208 


With  lightning  flash,  without  the  thunder  peal 

Transmitting.     "  Passion  is  akin  to  pain." 
And  then  a  soundless  voice,  soft,  sweet,  and  clear, 
A  message  nameless  whispers  in  mine  ear. 

Far  in  the  night  I  loathe  the  splendid  world, 
With  daring  thoughts  despising  all  save  thee, 

Till  hope,  out-dazzled  and  unwinged,  is  hurled 
From  heights  Olympian  to  the  Icarean  sea ; 

From  loftier  realms  than  mortal  pinions  sweep, 

Below  despair's  wide  ocean,  dark  and  deep. 

July,  1870. 


MASONIC  COLLEGE,  LEXINGTON,  Mo. 

Battered  and  grim  are  thy  classic  walls, 
Deserted  and  ruined  thy  murky  halls, 

And  the  bats  flit  in  and  out. 
Thy  portals  are  gray  with  untimely  decay, 
And  the  windows  are  wasted  and  broken  away, 

Where  merry  eyes  once  looked  out. 

Libraries,  pictures,  retorts,  and  the  lore 
In  the  laboratory's  curious  store, 
Were  scattered  by  vandal  hands. 


A  noble  brotherhood's  money  and  toil 
Were  destined  to  fall  as  the  fruitless  spoil 
Of  the  rabble  of  other  lands. 

Shade  trees  that  sheltered  our  youthful  play, 
Remorselessly  too  have  been  all  cut  away, 

Replaced  by  the  fort  and  ditch ; 
And  in  Liberty's  name  they  give  us  the  blame 
Of  defending  our  own  from  the  forcible  claim 

Of  the  Christians  who  burnt  the  witch. 

21st  Aug.,  1870. 


SAINT  JOSEPH. 

There's  beauty  in  the  River  bend,  when  morning's 
early  beam 

Flings  down  its  flood  of  light  upon  yon  broad  ma- 
jestic stream, 

When  cloudlets  fleck  the  plain  beyond  with  many 
a  changing  hue, 

And  Blacksnake  hills  receding  melt  in  distance  dim 
and  blue. 

There's  beauty  in  the  River  bend,  when  noonday  sun 
is  high, 


210 


When  earth  seems  struggling  to  reflect  the  glory  of 

the  sky, 
Where   steamers  proudly  move  and  breathe  like 

things  of  life  and  power, 
And  every  gaudy  shrub  puts  forth  its  sweetlier 

pleading  flower. 

There's  beauty  in  the  River  bend,  when  at  the  sun- 
set glow 

The  gold  and  purple  mount  the  sky  and  tinge  the 
wave  below, 

When  glowing  wheels  and  clattering  hoofs  their 
cheerful  music  make, 

And  cheeks  with  honest  crimson  glow  from  driving 
to  the  lake. 

There's  beauty  in  the  pictured  dream  of  moonlit 

Prospect  hill, 
When,  though  afar,  it  seems  to  rise  in  vivid  outline 

still, 
And  gives  me  back,  through  years  and  tears,  the 

bright  young  form  that  stood 
Beside  me  there — oh !  vision  rare  !  the  brilliant  and 

the  good. 


211 


There's  beauty  in  each  starry  hour,  when  night  sup- 
plants the  day. 

And  beauty  still  when  drowned  in  light  the  planets 
sink  away ; 

By  day,  by  night,  by  land  or  River  bend,  0  !  city 
fair ! 

Thy  children  need  but  look  to  see  there's  beauty 
every-where. 

ST.  Louis,  Oct.  30,  1870. 


THE  RAINDROP. 

1  heard  a  little  drop  of  rain 
Fall  on  my  darkened  window  pane, 
And  as  it  broke  the  silence  there 
Its  whisper  floated  on  the  air. 

That  whisper,  for  it  was  no  more, 

A  mystic  revelation  bore — 

The  lonely  silence  as  it  broke — 

And  these  the  words  the  raindrop  spoke 

"  Ten  thousand  years  their  labors  lent 
To  form  me  in  the  firmament, 
And  every  element  a  share 
Contributed  to  fix  me  there. 


"  Thus  bright  and  beautifully  born, 
With  lines  a  rainbow  to  adorn, 
My  native  realms  appeared  so  high 
I  deemed  my  destiny  the  sky. 

"  But  in  the  moment  of  my  birth 
I  found  myself  impelled  to  earth, 
And  to  my  parent  cycles  cried, 
In  wild  despair,  my  wounded  pride. 

"  Is  this  the  end  of  all  your  care, 
Your  tutelage  in  the  upper  air  ? 
Were  my  creative  hopes  in  vain  ? 
Must  I  be  merged  in  clouds  and  rain  ? " 

The  centuries  this  word  returned  : 
"  Think  not  thy  beauties  we  have  spurned, 
For  thee,  all  piteous  as  thou  art, 
There  is  a  mission  set  apart. 

"In  this  dark  fall  against  thy  will 
Thou  canst  alone  that  mission  fill ; 
And  when  apparently  destroyed, 
Thy  uses  first  will  be  employed ! 


213 


"  Grand  tilings  depend  upon  the  small. 
Each  part  essential  is  to  all ; 
When  seeming  to  oblivion  hurled, 
A  raindrop  helps  revive  a  world  ! 

"  Thou  shalt  in  other  forms  endure, 
Ethereal,  reproduced  and  pure  ; 
All  parts  of  vast  creation's  plan 
Are  fixed  by  law — escape  none  can." 

"  Content  with  this,  oblivion's  host, 
That  perish,  yet  are  never  lost, 
I  joined  with  countless  drops  of  rain, 
And  fell — yet  who  dare  say  in  vain  ? " 

Thus  spoke  the  little  drop  of  rain, 
That  whispered  on  my  window  pane, 
And  sparkling  in  the  lamp  light  threw 
A  dying  flash  like  diamond  true. 

"  Celestial  messenger,"  I  cried, 
"  Since  none  in  vain  have  lived  and  died, 
Be  death  and  dark  oblivion  mine, 
The  humblest  misson  is  divine ! " 

Nov.  15,  1870. 


214 


BEAUTIES  OF  THE  SKY. 

Qh  !  purple  glow  in  tne  sunset  sky  ! 
Speak  to  the  ear  as  thou  dost  to  the  eye, 
And  tell  us  the  cause,  and  the  reason  why, 
Thy  fleeting  and  golden  glories  are  given 
To  wrap  the  earth  in  the  beauties  of  heaven. 

Is  silent  beauty  a  useful  thing  ? 

Yea,  it  aids  us  to  lift  with  angels  the  wing, 

And  to  the  sad  soul  sweet  peace  to  bring; 

Tho'  it  clothe  not  the  needy,  nor  the  hungry  give 

food, 
It  wins  the  lone  spirit  to  dwell  with  the  good. 

1871. 


BLAIR'S  FIRST  SPEECH  IN  THE  SENATE, 

One  giant  yet  is  left, 

Colossal  in  the  land, 
To  prove  the  antique  models  cleft 

In  marble  pure  and  grand. 
Were  proto-types  of  this  our  day, 
Foretold  in  ages  passed  away. 
Bravo  for  Blair ! 


215 


"  Republic  "  is  a  name 

Aspiring  chieftains  hate ; 
Monopolists  of  wealth  and  fame 

Must  overthrow  the  state. 
Oh !  for  one  hero  in  such  hour, 
To  check  the  growth  of  one-man  power. 
Bravo  for  Blair ! 

One  voice  at  last  is  heard, 

Designing  schemes  to  mar  ; 
One  freeman,  faithful  to  his  word, 

In  peace  as  well  as  war — 
As  fearless  in  the  senate -hall 
As  facing  shell  and  minnie-ball. 
Bravo  for  Blair ! 

Needs  man  a  master  yet? 

Deserve  we  this  disgrace  ? 
Can  foeman  trust  the  bayonet 

At  freedom's  voting  place  ? 
If  these  be  needful,  danger  still 
Reposes  in  the  people's  will ! 
Bravo  for  Blair ! 

Down  with  the  tyrant's  plea, 
Down  with  the  bristling  arms  ! 


216 


While  these  remain,  not  all  are  free 

From  despotism's  harms. 
Armed  innovations  we  condemn, 
Let  those  trust  us — not  we  trust  them. 
Bravo  for  Blair ! 

Feb.  15,  1871. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SPRING. 

A  mountain  spring  far  inland,  to  a  hermit  passing  by, 
In  plaintive  whisper  murmured, "  I  believe  I  will  go 

dry; 

I  see  no  use  in  struggling  to  maintain  a  brooklet  here, 
For  birds  and  beasts  but  rarely  come,  and  no  one 

else  comes  near. 

"Besides,  I  am  obscure  and  small,  while  all  the 

world  takes  pride 
In  grand  expensive  reservoirs,  and  rivers  full  and 

wide  ; 
To  commerce  I  am  worthless,  for  no  bark  could  float 

on  me, 
Nor  do  I  think  one  drop  of  mine  can  ever  reach  the 


Then  said  the  hermit  to  the  spring,  "  Your  story  I 
have  heard, 

But  think  you  'tis  a  little  thing  to  soothe  a  little  bird  ? 

If  from  the  world's  creation  you  had  flowed  un- 
touched and  clear, 

One  sip  to  cool  some  tongue  athirst  were  worth 
your  being  here. 

"  Should  every  little  thing  refuse  to  do  what  good  it 

can, 
How  soon  the  infinite  result  would  spoil  the  general 

plan ; 
Then  do  your  duty,  little  spring,  send  forth  your 

waters  bright, 
Each  one  of  multitudes  like    you   makes  up  the 

ocean's  might." 

Feb.  17,  1871. 


THE  TEETOTALER'S  IDEAL  BIBATION. 

0  !  give  me  some  delicate  wine, 
Less  gross  than  the  rosy  Moselle, 

Whose  flavor  like  nectar  divine 
Will  everything  mortal  dispel ; 

Not  something  that  flushes, 


218 


But  something  that  hushes, 

The  red  tide  of  life  in  the  breast- 
To  gently  o'ercome  me, 
And  gently  benumb  me, 
Until  I  feel  willing  to  rest. 

There  is  none  so  exquisite  made — 

Then  no  tempting  poison  for  me  ! 
Give  spurs  to  the  scrub  and  the  jade, 

But  let  the  free  courser  run  free. 
If  there  is  none  of  it, 
This  wine  that  I  covet, 

No  counterfeit  fluid  I'll  taste  ; 
If  manhood  claims  glory, 
What  shame  in  the  story 

Of  primitive  manhood  debased. 

Then  give  me  some  delicate  wine, 
To  soothe  and  to  quiet  rude  care  ; 

For  something  exalting  I  pine, 

When  pressed  by  my  burden  of  care ; 

And  yet  something  harmless  and  fine, 
Unfollowed  by  ache  or  despair ; 

So  cheap  that  to  drink  it 

Will  not  make  me  think  it  . 


219 


A  selfish  indulgence  of  mine. 
Not  taxed  until  scanty, 
But  flowing  and  plenty — 

Cold  water  is  God's  chosen  wine. 

March  6,  1871. 


A  PURE  NAME. 

Among  the  maids  immortal  born, 
To  shine  in  glory's  blazing  sky, 

Till  glory  fades  in  Heaven's  morn, 
Thy  name  shall  be  the  last  to  die. 

O  keep  it  ever  fair  and  pure  ! 

Unstained  and  spotless,  as  sublime, 
That  while  its  music  shall  endure 

'Twill  sweeten  with  the  lapse  of  time; 

Transmitting  to  an  age  remote, 

In  thy  example,  marked  and  known, 
One  brilliant  type  that  shall  denote 

The  heart  wherein  thou  hast  thy  throne- 
That  will  in  days  far  hence  inspire 

The  tempted  maid  from  vice  and  shame, 


220 


And  woo  to  virtue  and  to  bliss — 
To  that  age  be,  as  tliou  to  this. 

When  Time  assails  thy  gentle  brow, 
And  Pain's  unsparing  hand  takes  hold, 

Thou  will  be  young  in  fame  as  now 
Thy  wisdom  seemeth  old. 

May  11,  1871. 


THE  ADIEU  OF  A  GRADUATE. 

Like  barks  that  from  one  port  have  sailed 

To  trace  the  ocean's  devious  breast, 
Where  storms  have  over  all  prevailed, 

And  few  have  found  success  and  rest : 
So  we  life's  ocean  now  must  try, 

Not  knowing  what  may  lie  before, 
And  only  able  to  descry 

The  outlines  of  receding  shore. 

Some  will  be  beckoned  to  the  "West, 
And  some  the  Orient  will  woo  ; 

But  all  will  love  the  home  port  best, 
And  bless  its  terra  firma  true. 


221 


Life's  ocean  glows  with  luring  lights, 
That  signal  us  to  different  ways, 

But  like  fixed  stars  in  azure  heights 

Shine  precepts  learned  in  youthful  days. 

Celestial  faith — our  Polar  Star — 

May  reach  with  its  divergent  ray 
Our  several  hearts,  tho'  sundered  far, 

And  safely  guide  our  wandering  way. 
And  so  will  HE,  who  doth  all  well, 

Our  destinies  remote  unite, 
As  o'er  the  ocean's  wide,  wide  swell, 

One  sky  tucks  in  the  world  at  night. 

As  doth  His  all-uniting  love 

Reveal  to  our  uplifted  gaze 
One  shining  heaven  that  bends  above, 

And  downward  lets  its  glories  blaze  : 
So  souls  that  tremble  toward  His  throne, 
HE  unifies  and  makes  His  own, 
That  present,  absent,  near  or  far, 
They  gaze  alike  on  one  fixed  star  ; 
And  influenced  by  its  rays  serene, 
Feel  near — though  oceans  roll  between. 

June  12,  1871. 


222 


THE  IDEAL. 

Within  my  heart  an  image  dwells, 
Too  beauteous  for  the  limner's  skill ; 

Whose  power  each  rising  passion  quells, 
And  bids  my  stormy  soul — be  still ! 

Not  all  the  craft  of  Raphael's  brush 
To  canvas  could  that  face  transfer  ; 

Nor  is  there  need  of  light  to  flush 
Its  features  o'er  with  radiance  clear. 

At  midnight  hour  its  glow  is  bright 
As  when  its  tints  defy  the  sun  ; 

No  darkness  can  obscure  the  light 
It  sheds  for  me — when  day  is  done. 

For  me  it  shines — for  me  alone — 

Its  sacred  beauty  is  for  me ; 
Does  it  resemble  any  one  ? 

Yes,  darling — it  but  copies  thee. 

June  12,  1872. 


IMAGINARY. 

Another  year  !     Another  year  ! 
And  thou  art  there,  and  I  am  here  ; 


223 


The  days,  the  nights,  the  weeks  are  gone, 
The  months  to  age-like  ends  have  drawn ; 
The  vernal  buds,  the  summer  leaves, 
The  birds  that  sang  o'er  autumn  sheaves, 
Have  come  and  gone,  and  hated  snow 
Recalls  the  flakes  of  bitter  woe 
That  fell  and  froze — a  year  ago. 

Another  year  !     Another  year  ! 
And  thou  art  there,  and  I  am  here  ; 
Again  the  flakes  seem  downward  driven, 
Like  curses  thick  from  vengeful  Heaven  ; 
Yet  still  I  cling,  with  desperate  hand, 
To  hope's  poor  crumbling  rope  of  sand, 
As  drowning  sailors,  chilled  and  numb- 
Not  speechless,  only  faint  and  dumb- 
Not  lifeless,  drift — and  dream  of  home. 

Another  year  !     Another  year  ! 
And  thou  art  there,  and  I  am  here  ; 
And  ah !  when  we  were  forced  to  part, 
Had  some  weird  vision  told  my  heart 
That  I  could  live  to  see  this  day, 
With  thee,  my  life,  my  soul,  away — 


224 


Away  and  silent — I  would  fain 

Have  summon  all  up  in  one  short  pain, 

Before  the  snow  had  fallen  again. 

Another  year  !    Another  year  ! 

And  thou  art  there,  and  I  am  here ; 

'Tis  said  we  must  be  purified, 

As  inetal  in  the  fire  is  tried  ; 

That  suffering  in  this  world  of  strife 

Is  discipline  for  higher  life  : 

I  know  not,  care  not,  seek  not  bliss 

Attained  at  such  a  cost  as  this ; 

I  crave  no  Heaven  beyond  thy  kiss  ! 

Another  year !     Another  year  ! 

And  thou  art  there,  and  I  am  here  ; 

E'en  yet  word  music  lingers  still, 

Like  echo  on  some  distant  hill ; 

And  thoughts  that  were  all  crude  before, 

Entombed  like  shapeless  hoards  of  ore 

In  nature's  rich,  yet  dingy  mine, 

Have  through  this  furnace,  love,  of  thine, 

Been  moulded  into  shapes  divine. 

Jan.  1st,  1873. 


225 


IN  MEMORY  OF  CHAS.  R.  DAVIS. 

The  uplifted  hand  of  the  smiter 

Hangs  heavy  and  sore  over  all ; 
It  strikes  down  the  reader  and  writer, 

It  spares  not  the  great  nor  the  small ; 
But  the  blow  seems  more  dire  and  unsparing, 

And  grief  seems  the  hardest  to  bear, 
When  the  gifted,  the  good  and  the  daring, 

Are  torn  from  the  world  they  make  fair. 

There's  a  gap  in  the  phalanx  of  labor, 

A  rift  in  a  chain  hard  to  mend ; 
The  scholar,  the  thinker,  the  neighbor, 

No  less  to  be  mourned  than  the  friend  ; 
The  good  and  the  manly  will  miss  him, 

As  one  of  their  boldest  and  best ; 
But  alas  !  for  the  lips  that  will  kiss  him, 

And  lay  him  away  to  his  rest. 

ST.  Louis,  July  21,  1873. 

Poor  Davis !  the  last  time  I  saw  him  he  was  well  and  hearty  at 
the  frolic  at  the  Globe's  First  Anniversary.  That  was  Friday,  18th. 
Monday  I  wrote  the  above  lines,  upon  hearing  of  his  death. — 
A.  W.  S. 


226 


A  COQUETTE. 
"  I  have  no  heart,  and  this,"  she  said, 

u  I  told  you  long  ago ; 
I've  torn  it  piecemeal,  shred  by  shred — 
Its  pulse  is  there,  its  feeling  dead. 
Extinct  volcanoes  mostly  know 
The  regions  of  supernal  snow. 
Call  words  but  breath  ; 
There  is  no  faith." 
Stop !  say  not  so.    Ah !  say  not  so ! 

"  I've  changed  my  mind,  and  you,"  she  said, 

"  Can  do  the  same,  you  know. 
My  kisses  will  not  linger  long, 
And  you  can  find  relief  in  song. 
The  poet's  soul  was  made  to  know 
The  heights  of  joy,  the  depths  of  woe: 
The  callous  breast 
Allures  him  best." 
Stop !  say  not  so.    Ah !  say  not  so ! 

"  If  you  must  love,  you  can,"  she  said, 
"  Love  some  one  else,  you  know. 
The  world  is  full  of  beauteous  flowers  ; 
Go  seek  them  in  more  welcome  bowers ; 


"Woo  some  one  else,  and  let  me  go 
My  ways — I  have  enough  to  do  ; 

Time  lost,  I  dare 

No  longer  spare." 
Stop  !  say  not  so.    Ah !  say  not  so ! 

Dec.  3,  1873. 


WISH  You  MY  NAME. 

Answer  to  a  French  Song. 

Wish  you  my  name  ?    It  is  for  thee ! 
Wish  you  my  goods?    They  too  are  thine ! 

With  all  my  heart  I  give  them  thee, 
If  your  bright  eyes  on  me  will  shine, 

If  you'll  repose  awhile  with  me, 

That  you  may  know  how  I  love  thee. 
Ah !  that  you  knew  how  I  love  you ! 

Wish  you  my  heart  ?    It  is  for  you  ; 
'Tis  just  as  well  that  you  should  know 

That  I  have  nothing — nothing,  dear- 
Nothing  that  can  to  me  pertain 

That  is  not  thine  by  title  clear. 
Ah !  take  my  heart !  It  is  for  you : 

If  only  flow  1  love,  you  knew ; 
If  how  I  love,  you  only  knew  ! 


1873. 


ASPIRATION. 

To  mould  some  thought,  to  say  some  word, 
Above,  beyond,  the  common  herd, 
Whose  fame  would  live  in  after-time — 
Some  act,  some  utterance  sublime, 
Some  teaching  to  lift  up  mankind, 
Some  precept  lofty  and  refined, 
Some  plea  for  love  to  everything 
That  nature  dooms  to  suffering, 
Or  bold  rebuke  of  human  wrong, 
No  matter  where  the  fault  belong — 
To  do,  to  say,  to  think,  to  write, 
Some  novel  thing  each  day  and  night, 
Yet  leave  behind  some  sample  best 
To  live,  as  token  of  the  rest, 
Expression  of  the  homage  due 
From  faithful  heart  to  heart  as  true  : 
Be  this  my  life's  ambition  high, 
To  cheer  me  when  I  come  to  die. 

July  30,  1873. 


LINES, 

To  a  Pretty  Teacher  of  the  French  Language. 

While  tints  that  tinge  the  autumn  woods 
Lend  beauty  to  the  hill  and  plain, 


229 


Teach  me  thy  tenses  and  thy  moods, 
Let  me  thy  charming  accent  gain  : 
Lead  me  not  into  poet's  page, 
But  read  from  some  Platonic  sage. 

"  Tres  Men  ;  "  the  wise  Confucius  said, 
"  Be  calm  ;  observe  the  '  au  mileau?  ' 

Ah  !  had  he  seen  thy  classic  head, 
Or  felt  thine  eyes  of  dazzling  blue, 

The  wisest  ancient  would  have  known 

He  could  not  call  his  heart  his  own. 

"  Act  when  alone  as  if  ten  eyes 
Were  on  you  with  ten  pointing  hands. 3: 

'Tis  easy  to  philosophize 
On  something  no  one  understands: 

Could  he  have  seen  thy  hands  of  snow, 

He  would  have  let  all  others  go. 

"  Keep  your  affections  well  controlled, 
O  !  Prince,  if  you  would  govern  well." 

The  sage's  words  are  wise  and  bold  ; 
His  princess  never  knew  the  spell 

-That  swells  the  bosom  of  a  bard, 

Beneath  thy  magic  "  prenez  garde" 


230 


"  Say  nothing  you  would  wish  to  change," 
The  prudent  old  preceptor  taught ; 

But  had  he  come  within  thy  range, 

Thy  glance  would  many  a  vow  have  caught ; 

And  then,  as  from  thy  mirth  he  fled, 

He  would  have  wished  his  words  unsaid. 

So  on,  we  might  the  page  pursue, 
But  why  redouble  proofs  so  plain  ? 

Confucius  never  dreamed  of  you, 
Nor  studied  French  on  railway  train  : 

His  old  philosophy  was  fine, 

But  modern  learning  is  divine. 

Oct.  30,  1873. 


Too  SWIFT. 

Ah  !  stay  your  flight,  evasive  hours, 

And  linger  once  with  folded  wings  ; 
Forbear  with  swiftly  hastening  powers 

To  speed  the  bliss  that  loving  brings. 
Be  fleet  with  those  who  suffer  ill, 

Be  spoilers  where  they  wish  thee  gone  ; 
But  bid  the  sun  of  life  stand  still, 

While  love's  soft  spell  is  round  me  drawn. 


231 


Let  each  dear  glance  consume  a  day, 

Let  each  fond  word  an  hour  destroy  ; 
While  to  replace  each  tress  astray 

A  month  caressingly  employ. 
Life  is  but  laughter,  love  and  tears, 

"With  laughter  then  and  tears  be  swift ; 
But  linger  out  the  happy  years — 

This  glimpse  of  Heaven  through  clouds  arift. 

March  3,  1874. 


BETRAYAL. 

What  fiend  Plutonic  nerves  the  arm 
That  does  the  unsuspecting  harm, 
And  injuries  that  have  no  end 
Inflicts  upon  a  bosom  friend  ! 

To  cast  a  shade  on  shining  name, 
To  doom  to  ruin  rising  fame, 
To  plant  the  wound,  so  hard  to  heal, 
On  side  exposed  to  treacherous  steel ! 

All  these  are  base,  but  baser  still 
Is  he  whose  smile  betides  no  ill, 
Invites  the  trust  of  winsome  maid, 
And  ruins,  ere  he  makes  afraid. 


232 


Ah !  woe  to  him  who  can  betray 
The  faith  that  flings  mistrust  away  ; 
For  shuddering  demons  cannot  tell 
A  crime  more  hideous  in  hell. 

May,  1874. 


To  AN  IMAGINARY  CORRESPONDENT. 

What  answer  ?    Not  a  word  or  line  ! 

Though  oft  I've  called  to  thee  ; 
There  does  not  come  a  single  sign 

From  yonder  soundless  sea. 
No  echo  even  to  the  words 

From  parted  lips  that  fly, 
Yet  perish  like  the  laden  birds 

That  on  the  desert  die. 

In  anguish  all  complaint  is  hushed, 

Except  the  voice  of  song, 
And  that  I've  stifled  back  and  crushed 

With  struggles  tierce  and  strong, 
Until,  like  some  resistless  tide, 

That  sweeps  down  every  stay, 
Wild  numbers  burst  the  bounds  of  pride, 

And  dash  restraint  away. 


233 


When  thus  the  mastery  is  o'erthrown 

In  duty's  desolate  domain, 
The  only  solace  to  me  known 

Has  been  to  yield  the  strife  so  vain, 
And,  looking  up  in  mortal  woe, 

Appeal  to  God  for  strength  to  bear 
The  burden  that  no  heart  can  know, 

And  none,  save  thine  and  mine,  can  share. 

May  2,  1874. 


"MY  SHRINE." 

Upon  my  mantel,  in  a  row, 
Four  simple  pictures  glow, 
With  shining  frames  about  them  placed 
Of  neat  and  modest  taste ; 
Four  images  of  daughters  mine, 
Four  little  darlings,  rare  and  fine, 
Whose  faces  beam  with  light  divine — 
And  here  I've  made  my  shrine. 

The  place  is  more  like  sacred  ground 
Than  any  I  have  found  ; 
No  dome  of  fresco  reared  by  art 
Can  so  impress  my  heart : 


234 


'Tis  here  I  feel  remorse  begin, 
With  contrite  grief  for  every  sin ; 
And  faults  that,  close  to  crime  akin, 
Make  heaven  so  hard  to  win. 

And  here  my  soul,  remote  from  crowds, 
Is  shadowed  "by  no  clouds  ; 
Aloof  at  last  from  tangling  care, 
I  lift  to  God  my  prayer  ; 
And  He  that  doth  in  secret  see 
In  secret  seems  to  answer  me, 
For  sake  of  these,  that  I  may  be 
From  secret  sin  kept  free. 

Alone,  I  seek  at  this  pure  shrine 
The  face  of  God  divine. 
In  public  no  one  is  sincere, 
For  all  are  tinged  with  fear ; 
But  here  my  heart  is  all  laid  bare 
To  Him  who  doth  for  sparrow  care  ; 
To  him  I  lift  a  parent's  prayer — 
"  Wilt  Thou  these  children  spare  ! 

u  May  they  be  happy  in  their  loves, 
And  innocent  as  doves  ; 


235 


May  they,  as  daughters,  sweethearts,  wives, 
Be  honest  in  their  lives  ; 
And  while  none  others  they  deceive, 
Lead  them  no  falsehoods  to  believe, 
That  might,  too  late,  their  spirits  grieve — 
Poor  drifting  bairns  of  Eve  ! 

"  Of  wicked  vice,  debased  and  low, 

Let  them  not  even  know  ; 

Like  their  own  mother,  let  them  be 

From  affectation  free  ; 

And  ere  their  dying  lips  are  dumb 

Grant  them  faith's  victory  o'er  the  tomb, 

And  let  them  to  Thy  kingdom  come 

In  yonder  heavenly  home." 

This  is  my  prayer,  I  say  and  feel, 

As  at  my  shrine  I  kneel ; 

And  lo !  though  absent  far  and  wide, 

I  think  them  at  my  side ; 

And  hosts  celestial  come  and  go, 

On  radiant  wings  as  white  as  snow, 

Till  heaven  above  and  heaven  below 

Have  made  my  shrine  aglow. 


236 


But  no  intruding  eye  could  see 

The  light  that  shines  on  me  ; 

For  little  pictures  on  the  wall 

To  others  would  be  all ; 

An<J  yet  to  me  the  thought  is  given 

Of  such  the  kingdom  is  of  heaven  ; 

And  from  this  shrine  despair  is  driven 

By  hope  to  be  forgiven. 

Aug.  28, 1874. 


INDIAN  SUMMER. 

The  russet,  brown  October  leaves 

The  frost  and  sun  are  tinging  o'er, 
And  safe  amid  the  garnered  sheaves 

The  field  mouse  hides  her  winter's  store. 
The  spider  mounts  her  gauzy  stair, 

Her  flight  on  home-made  wings  she  lifts, 
And  lazy  on  the  languid  air 

A  fleecy  cloud  at  random  drifts. 

Through  azure  depths  the  sunbeams  pour 
On  woodlands  crowned  with  gorgeous  dyes, 

And  town  and  village  raise  once  more 
Their  smoky  columns  toward  the  skies. 


What  is  it  in  this  autumn  scene 

That  from  the  past  seems  asking  me 

If  it  was  summer — that  has  been  ? 
If  it  is  winter — that  must  be  ? 

I  know  not !  yet  a  voice  is  gone, 

Whose  tones  gave  music  to  the  spring ; 
And  dreary  months  must  hope,  hope  on, 

Ere  back  again  that  voice  'twill  bring. 
I  know  not !  yet  remember  well 

The  summer  warmth,  and  glow,  and  light 
That  once  on  such  a  day  befell 

A  heart  now  plunged  in  gloom  and  night. 
I  know  not !  yet  the  past  has  shown 

That  leaves  may  wither,  snows  may  fall, 
Yet  love  be  faithful  to  its  own, 

And  hearts  be  changeless  after  all. 

October  13,  1874. 


ARTHUR  BARRETT'S  FUNERAL. 

A  mournful  dirge  swells  from  the  street, 
From  lofty  spires  the  bells  are  tolling- 

And,  followed  by  slow  marching  feet, 
The  voiceless,  stately  hearse  is  rolling. 


238 


Chief  magistrate  of  mighty  city, 
Fresh  from  the  victory  and  the  strife  ; 

Love,  hate,  revenge,  all  melt  to  pity, 
For  such  an  end  to  such  a  life. 

But  deeper  than  all  outward  grieving 
Feel  those  hot  eyes  whence  tears  have  fled ; 

Who  loved  less  Mayor  than  man  when  living, 
And  mourn  the  man,  not  Mayor,  when  dead ! 

April  27,  1875. 


A  CURIOSITY  OF  RHYME. 

Where  Ignorance  is  Bliss,  'tis  Youllaire  to  "be  Wise  : 
So  Sharpe  a  Jeck-0 !  who  will  Kreiter-cise  ? 
Cunningham  argument  studied  Knight  and  Day  ; 
No  Wag-nor  Duke  can  always  hold  at  Bay  ! 
For  High  or  Lowe,  in  Comfort  or  in  Payne, 
The  ousters  Spes  will  be  to  oust  again. 
The  Wolff  of  Justice,  Poepping  from  her  Wood, 
Dis-  Arm-strong  Kehrs,  and  Knox  them  into  Goode  ; 
She  comes,  and  on  her  comes  a  pilgrim  Grey, 
To  Deck-er  turf — perhaps  to  rob  Barclay  ! 
To  Fletch-er  bacon,  or  her  Castle-burry, 


With,  gifts  to  flatter,  rich  and  grey  and  very. 
The  time  for  Vast-ine-terments  is  at  hand  ; 
The  Jew-ett  cetera  join  our  band. 
Beyond  what  lawyers  get  for  fees  (except  Black- 
Jerry) 

Will  bring  down  wrathful  verdicts  in  a  hurry. 
Be  Mum-for  to  decay  disposed  no  saint, 
Nor  sinner  either,  can  Espy  life's  taint 
In  time  to  Shield  the  insatiate  Archer's  Blow, 
When  at  his  Marks  the  Bowman  bends  his  bow. 
Long  Daily  to  be  free, 

Those  who  bow  and  smile  and  bend  the  knee 
To  Rankin  Posts  with  Bishop  and  Pope, 
Rum-bower  Peeples  with  every  hope. 
The  Ewing  Birds  Light-high-sir,  when  they  soar; 
O'Kneel !  and  Polk  your  Dry  den  fun  no  Moore. 
To  Taussig,  Noble,  Smiths,  with  Brown  Redd  hands, 
Pay  Williams'  Sterling,  but  pay  Mils  to  Shands  ; 
And  Broadhead  bands  by  Garish  aid  make  Chase. 
With  Gantt-let  Glove-or  magisterial  Mace. 
Although  no  Mauro  rainbow  of  the  past  be  seen, 
From  Snowy  White  to  Hughes  of  Brown  and  Green, 
Keep  Cullen's  Kitchen  Gardiners  in  close  sight- 
Yon  are  no  Peacock,  but  a  Clay-born  wight. 


240 


Carroll  and  Whittle  cedar  as  he  goes, 
Dismiss  his  muse  and  prosecute  his  prose  ; 
Like  Law-rents,  when  Higged-on,  imp-Loring  cries, 
Will  whisk  down  judgment  from  the  wrathful  skies  ; 
And  Treat  with  Dyer  contempt  all  rules  of  Wright, 
To  right  the  wrong  of  what  you  write  to-night. 
Will  Hitch-cock-ades  of  Clover,  Brown  and  Gray, 
Till  Fields  of  Corne-will  Woods  of  Moss  display. 
Audacious  Bard,  I  bid  you  now  be-Ware, 
Such  liberties  with  names  no  Page  will  bear ; 
You  must  not  Lett-on  at  such  a  Boyle-ing  rate, 
A  new  Reber  Bell-ion  you'll  inaugurate. 

It  was  the  intention  of  Col.  Slayback  to  place  the  names  of  all 
the  Lawyers  at  the  Bar  in  this  piece,  but  it  was  never  finished, 
and  some  lines  had  to  be  left  out  on  that  account. 


THE  DEAD  JUDGE. 

He  was  a  learned  man — with  ease  could  quote 

All  kinds  of  fine  things  he  had  learned  by  rote  ; 

And  as  to  law,  he  knew  it,  and  could  feel 

As  sure  as  we  do,  when  we  take  appeal : 

And  searching  books  would  somehow  always  find, 

Without  convincing  his  own  mind, 


241 


That  if  the  court  should  decide 

Against  him,  he  their  ruling  must  abide. 

He  had  his  faults,  but  these  we  will  not  name, 

'Tis  only  of  his  virtues  we  declaim ; 

And  yet,  upon  reflection,  we  admit 

He  somewhat  spoilt  all  these  with  traits  not  fit 

To  expatiate  upon  just  now,  but  still 

'Tis  only  fair  to  those  in  grief  to  tell 

The  usual,  customed  and  respected  lie, 

That  we  condole  with  them,  yet  all  must  die  ; 

And  since  his  turn  mysteriously  came  first, 

Surviving  hearts  should  struggle  not  to  burst 

With  hopeless  sorrow,  and  will  feel  less  bad, 

Apologizing  for  the  faults  he  had. 

With  this  view  only  we  will  name  a  few 

For  which  he  was  distinguished,  and  review — 

"  De  mortuis  nil " — and  so  forth,  lest  some  head 

Might  take  the  notion  we  disliked  the  dead ; 

But  for  the  instruction  of  surviving  youth, 

And  for  the  warning,  we  must  say  in  truth, 

That  this  man  viciously  sat  up  at  night, 

Hours  that  belonged  to  sleep,  and  then  would  write 

Some  things  'twere  best  they  were  unwritten  quite. 

He  was,  unfortunately,  much  inclined 


242 


On  painful  subjects  too  to  speak  Ms  mind  ; 
And  that  was  not  the  best  of  minds  always, 
We  solemnly  admit,  tho'  prone  now  but  to  praise. 

Still  he  is  gone,  and  what  he's  done  is  done  : 
I  move  committees,  to  consist  of  one, 
Each  court  of  record  shall  the  judges  bore 
By  a  recital  of  what  we  now  deplore  ; 
And  also  one  to  find  if  there  be  those 
Dependent  on  him  needy  in  their  woes — 
That  some  of  us  may,  'spite  this  heterodoxy, 
Attend  his  funeral,  and  give  cash  by  proxy. 

This  speech  elicited  subdued  applause, 
And  buzzing  sanction  filled  the  ensuing  pause, 
When  up  there  rose  a  face  with  busier  turn, 
And  moved  that,  sine  die,  uwe  adjourn." 

1875. 


THE  UNDERTAKER. 

By  onerous  profits  wreaked  from  the  distressed, 
Who  count  not  cost  while  grief  distracts  the  breast, 
The  crafty  oppressor  drives  his  gilded  hearse, 
And  adds  to  death's  bereavement  one  more  curse  : 


The  costly  pomp  of  fashionable  grief, 
That  grasps  from  sorrow  what  would  shame  a  thief ; 
The  impoverished  widow  and  her  orphans  sigh 
For  him  who  died,  and  what  he  cost  to  die. 


THE  DEPARTED. 

The  busy  wheels  roll  o'er  the  humming  street, 
The  sidewalks  echo  to  the  tread  of  feet, 
New  faces  come  and  go  and  pass  away, 
And  those  we  miss  are  missed  but  for  a  day  ; 
And  those  who  stir  and  meet  and  greet  awhile, 
And  feverish  hours  with  cares  intense  beguile, 
Are  hastening,  hurrying  dust  unto  its  dust, 
To  prove  belief  less  strange  than  cold  mistrust. 

1875. 


SOME  MISTAKEN  PROPHECIES. 

You  said  that  time  would  change  my  heart, 
That  tender  words  were  frail  as  air ; 

You  said  that  should  our  pathways  part, 
We  soon  would  learn  to  love  elsewhere ; 


244 


But  long,  long  years  have  passed  since  then, 
And  we  have  wandered  devious  ways, 

Yet  none  among  adoring  men 
Has  loved  as  I  have  loved  always. 

You  said  by  searching  I  would  find 

Some  hand  more  free,  some  eye  more  blue, 
Some  soul  as  beautiful  and  kind, 

Some  heart  as  tender  and  as  true  ; 
Yet  every  fair  one  I  have  met 

Has  brought  to  memory  anew 
The  charms  I  never  can  forget, 

The  loveliness  supreme  in  you. 

You  said  if  time  should  prove  you  wrong, 

Some  future  day  you  might  incline 
To  listen  to  my  sad  love  song, 

And  may  be  then  you  could  be  mine  ; 
And  joys  divine  it  brings  to  me 

To  know  that,  when  my  hand  you  press, 
It  is  not  in  your  heart  to  be 

Unmindful  of  my  faithfulness. 

Sept.  11,  1875. 


245 


GRIEF. 

Within  each  human  heart  there  dwells 

Some  grief  too  bitter  to  be  told, 
Some  sorrow  that  no  token  tells, 

Nor  eye  intrusive  can  behold. 

And  yet  the  pangs  we  thus  conceal 

Would  never  be  so  keenly  felt, 
Did  not  the  conscious  bosom  feel 

Its  silence  half  way  due  to  guilt. 

A  phantom  enters,  saying  "  you  did  right" — 
Another  passes,  saying  "  no,  'twas  wrong  " — 

And  thus  throughout  the  sleepless,  wretched  night, 
Disputing  thoughts  their  arguments  prolong  ; 

Thus  hearts  must  throb  until  return  of  light, 
"  Who  learn  through  suffering  what  they  teach  in 
song." 

Dec.  6,  1875. 


IMAGINARY. 

When  round  me  all  the  world  is  gay 
With  sounds  of  gladness,  scenes  of  mirth, 


246 


The  thought  that  thou  art  far  away 
Makes  love  too  sad  a  thing  for  earth. 

At  such  a  time  I  feel  how  lone, 
How  far  from  sympathy  I  dwell, 

And  pine  for  joys  no  longer  known, 
With  sorrow  that  no  tongue  can  tell. 

'Tis  then  that  most  I  miss  the  one 
Who  wears  Elysium  in  her  face ; 

My  heart's  adored  !  my  queen  !  my  own 
Who  gives  to  life  its  only  grace. 

'Tis  then,  my  best  beloved,  I  ache 
To  know  if  I'm  best  loved  by  thee, 

And  wonder  if  a  heart  can  break 
While  vainly  struggling  to  be  free. 

'Tis  then  I  sink  from  self  away, 
And  plunge  in  waves  of  wordly  care, 

Eegardless  how  the  storms  may  play 
Above  the  billows  of  despair. 

Dec.  30,  1875. 


A  COMMON  LOT. 

Oft  in  the  heart  a  secret  lies 
Unuttered  and  unshown, 


That  neither  tongue,  nor  lips,  nor  eyes, 
Nor  hand,  nor  face  makes  known. 

Oft  in  the  breast  a  passion  dwells, 
That  makes  or  mars  a  life  ; 

Yet  not  one  outward  signal  tells 
The  inward  fire  and  strife. 

Oft  in  the  soul,  devotion's  eye 

Its  constant  vigil  keeps, 
With  tenderness  that  cannot  die, 

And  zeal  that  never  sleeps. 

Oft  in  the  brain  a  purpose  lives, 

Heroic  and  divine. 
That  courage  all  enduring  gives 

To  die — and  make  no  sign. 

Dec.  1,  1876. 


UNREST. 

Sick  at  heart  and  sore  of  brain, 
Weary  of  a  heart  so  vain — 
Jaded  down  with  worldly  strife, 
With  its  madd'ning  thrusts  at  life, 


248 


With  its  war  upon  the  good, 
With  its  base  ingratitude, 
With  its  ever  fickle  praise, 
With  its  carping  blame  always — 
With  its  doubtful,  slow  rewards, 
With  its  doom-like,  lost  regards — 
With  its  over-rated  gold, 
Hard  to  get,  and  hard  to  hold — 
With  its  gems,  so  bright,  so  vain, 
Easier  lost  than  to  attain — 
With  its  horrors,  dark  and  dread, 
With  its  struggles  fierce  for  bread— 
With  its  scandal  to  provoke 
Character-assailing  joke — 
Smile  derisive  of  disdain, 
Frown  so  gloomful  like  with  pain — 
Sudden  pangs  and  fleeting  joys, 
Life  filled  up  with  sham  deploys  : 
Where  shall  unrest  find  an  end  ? 
Who  can  joy  and  blessing  send  ? 
Shall  the  soul  e'er  seek  in  vain 
Antidote  for  earth's  dark  bane  ? 


249 


ANTICIPATION. 

< 

Will  the  thoughts  of  the  by-gone  years  come  back  ? 

Will  the  boyhood  dreams  return  ? 
When  honor  and  truth  laid  down  the  track 

For  zeal  and  youth  to  devoutly  yearn 

To'run  upon,  and  the  prize  to  earn, 

In  the  world's  great  race  for  fame  ? 

Will  the  love  that  was  honest  and  faithful  last  ? 

Will  it  live  when  others  die  ? 
Will  the  cold  world  enter  with  chilling  blast 

The  precincts  warm  of  my  loving  heart, 

When  the  world  I  knew  was  a  world  apart 

From  this  cheerless  place  of  sin  ? 

Will  the  faith  that  made  youth  so  fair  grow  dim  ? 

Will  it  all  dissolve  in  doubt  ? 
Will  the  great  world's  music  make  the  hymn 

My  mother  sang  less  grand  and  fine 

When  my  ear  grows  used  to  the  strains  divine 

Of  the  organ's  thundering  tone  ? 

Will  the  bliss  of  my  boyhood  joy  still  live 

When  the  wise  old  age  has  come  ? 
Will  the  conflagration  flame  and  live 


250 


When  the  fires  of  strife  have  raged  and  rolled  ? 
Will  ambition's  torch  be  out  and  cold 
That  enkindled  all  this  blaze? 

Jan.  12,  1877. 


LAKE  MINNETONKA. 

All  quiet  on  the  a&ure  lake  the  summer  sunshine  lay, 

And  fair  upon  its  bluish  waves  the  sail-boats  gem- 
med the  bay; 

The  flowers  beside  the  roadway  gave  the  air  a  sweet 
perfume, 

And  far  more  fair  than  they  was  she  who  watched 
with  me  their  bloom. 

The  summer  flowers  have  faded  now  along  the  lake- 
side shore, 

And  she  who  breathed  their  incense  then  is  at  my 
side  no  more ; 

The  sails  that  gemmed  the  bay  are  gone  far  o'er  the 
shining  waves, 

And  hopes  that  then  were  rich  with  joy  are  dead  in 
hopeless  graves. 


251 


The  summer  breeze  for  me  no  more  its  incense  soft 

can  shed, 
The  heart  that  made  it  sweet  is  broke  and  faith  is 

lost  and  dead ; 
'Tis  winter  all  year  round,  so  drear,  so  desolate  and 

chill- 
I  bow  to  Fate,  and  live,  because  pain  has  no  power 

to  kill! 

Dec.  15,  1877. 


TO    . 

When  sorrow  comes  to  grieve  thy  heart, 

Remember  joy  cannot  be  far  ; 
As  clouds  and  skies  are  not  apart, 

And  past  them  all  there  beams  a  star. 
When  shadows  wrap  the  earth  in  gloom, 

The  other  half  is  bright  and  fair  ; 
And  human  grief  has  flowers  which  bloom 

Within  the  forests  of  despair. 

April  16,  1878. 


UNSATISFIED. 

Familiar  to  the  trump  of  Fame, 

The  world's  applause  around  him  rang; 


252 


And  lavish  Fortune  lent  a  name 

That  nations  praised  and  poets  sang. 

His  blazing  jewels  could  not  bring 
A  moment's  glance  at  peaceful  rest ; 

His  brain  was  but  a  burning  thing, 
A  smouldering  fire  consumes  his  breast. 

But  Pomp,  with  all  its  empty  toys, 
And  Wealth,  with  all  its  gilded  pride, 

Were  inward  griefs,  though  outward  joys — 
His  heart  remained  unsatisfied. 

1878. 


ON  READING  FACES. 

uPapa,  when  lawyers  have  to  choose, 
From  men  they  do  not  know, 

Gfood  jurors,  who  will  not  abuse 
Their  oaths,  how  do  they  do  ? " 

So  asked  a  little  eight-year  old,* 
As  she  half  closed  a  book, 

And,  flinging  back  her  locks  of  gold, 
A  poise  expectant  took. 

'Minnette. 


253 


"  What  curious  questions  children  ask  ! 

Said  Papa  with  a  smile  ; 
"  To  answer  rightly  is  a  task 

That  sometimes  takes  a  while." 

'Tis  hard  to  read  men  by  their  looks, 
The  bad  look  like  the  good ; 

And  yet  they  may  be  read  like  books, 
When  they  are  understood — 

For  still  there  is  a  sort  of  glance 

That  lurks  in  every  face, 
Which  does  not  leave  us  all  to  chance, 

If  we  know  how  to  guess. 

And  though  there  is  no  settled  rule 

To  read  men  by  their  eyes, 
Each  day  we  live  is  but  a  school 

To  see  through  all  disguise. 

And  if  a  man  be  bad  at  heart 

And  willing  to  do  wrong, 
He  rarely  has  sufficient  art 

To  fool  us  very  long. 

So  by  and  by  the  face  is  old, 
Each  wrinkle,  line  and  glance, 


254 


Its  faithful  story  well  has  told — 
'Tis  rarely  there  by  chance  : 

For  many  a  little  meanness, 

And  many  a  sneaking  theft, 
Upon  his  smirking  features 

Its  tell-tale  line  has  left. 

Nay,  more  !  the  silent  work  of  time 
Goes  on  from  day  to  day ; 

Each  good  thought  leaves  a  trace  sublime- 
Each  bad,  the  other  way. 

And  though  he  try  to  look  serene, 

His  efforts  will  betray 
Some  latent  symptom  that  is  mean, 

Which  gives  him  clear  away. 

Beneath  the  silent  work  of  time 

The  features  wear  away  ; 
They  grovel,  or  become  sublime, 

By  night,  from  day  to  day. 

Goodness  will  cause  the  face  to  be 
The  type  of  deeds  well  meant, 

While  evil  hearts  are  never  free 
From  trace  of  bad  intent. 


Therefore,  my  darling  little  child, 

Be  watchful  how  you  act ; 
For  even  if  the  thoughts  are  wild, 

The  face  will  show  the  fact. 

Thus  will  the  soul- life  give  its  form 

And  meaning  to  the  eyes  ; 
As  trees  will  fall  which  way  the  storm 

Has  swept  across  the  skies. 

But  'tis  hard  to  tell  men  by  their  looks 

With  any  certitude ; 
Of  every  twelve  men  in  the  box, 

There  will  be  bad  and  good. 

Feb.  9,  1879. 


To  MY  DAUGHTER  MINNETTE. 

Ever  be  blameless — thus  you'll  be  free — 

None  but  the  wicked  are  slaves  ; 
None  but  the  innocent  ever  can  be 

Worthy  to  fill  honored  graves. 

Only  the  blameless  are  fit  to  be  free, 

Only  the  faithful  are  wise ; 
We  learn  to  command  when  we  learn  to  obey  ; 

Through  duty  alone  can  we  rise. 

March  2,  1879. 


256 


To  BROTHER  A.  V.  a  S.* 

It  may  be  a  little  late  in  the  day 
To  wish  you  a  Happy  New  Year ; 

But  still  I  must  waive  at  you,  far  away, 
With  a  heartfelt  friendly  cheer. 

'Tis  vain  to  look  "back,  or  too  far  ahead, 
Our  vision  has  narrow  range  ; 

So  let  us  be  friends  till  life  is  fled, 
Without  any  cooling  change. 

There  must  come  a  time — 
God  grant  not  soon — 

When  one  will  miss  the  other  ; 
But  until  it  comes,  let  us  prize  the  boon 

Of  knowing  and  loving  a  BROTHER. 

Jan.  7,  1880. 


To  DARLING  GRACE. 

Let  me  never  fail  to  find 
Sweet  sympathy  in  thee, 

And  I  will  strive  to  be  resigned 
To  all  fate  has  for  me. 


1880. 


*Rev.  A.  V.  C.  Schenck,  Philadelphia. 

257 


BE  MERRY. 

Then  let  us  laugh,  and 
Then  let  us  eat,  drink,  laugh  ; 
Then  let  us  fret  no  more  for  fame. 
Why  should  mortals  fret  for  fame, 
Or  turn  from  homely  fun  with  shame, 
When  laughter,  merriment  and  song 
To  living  joy  alone  belong? 
The  melancholy  too  must  die; 
'Tis  better  then  to  laugh  than  cry. 

1880. 


FRET  NOT. 

Fret  not — the  world  will  someway  wag  along, 
Until  the  blunders  will  be  made  all  right ; 

The  pigmy  truth  will  kill  the  giant  wrong, 
As  David  slew  Goliah  in  the  fight. 

Grieve  not — those  only  mourn  who  fail  to  see 
The  sweet,  but  needful,  uses  of  ill  fate  ; 

And  way  beyond  the  breakers  of  the  sea 

Sail  ships  of  hope,  all  full  of  precious  freight. 

1880. 


258 


HOME  PLEASURES. 

[To  MABEL.] 

We  never  know  what  home  is  worth, 
Until  we  go  away ; 
We  never  know  the  need  of  light, 
Until  the  close  of  day. 


1880. 


"DE  MORTUIS  NIL,"  ETC. 

"  The  Times  is  dead,"  the  carrier  said, 
With  a  doleful  voice  and  mien  ; 

"  But  no  one  thought  it  ever  ought 
Such  cruel  fate  to  have  seen." 

"  What  do  you  intend,  my  doleful  friend  ?  " 

The  old  subscriber  said  : 
'%  Do  you  mean  to  state  there  is  any  fate 

More  cruel  than  being  dead'?'5 

Why  yes,  indeed ;  after  death  had  freed 

The  Times  from  all  its  woe, 
Its  awful  remains,  including  brains, 

Were  exposed  to  buzzard  and  crow. 


259 


The  buzzard  flapped  its  wings,  and  snapped 

The  flesh  from  off  the  bones  ; 
And  then  the  crow  for  the  bones  did  go, 

And  cawed  in  dismal  tones. 

"  And  so  I  say,"  said  the  carrier  grey, 
"  It  looks  quite  sad,  my  friend, 

To  see  the  pair  of  vultures  tear 
The  corpse  up  at  the  end," 

Jan.  1,  1881. 


THERE'S  NOTHING  IN  THIS  VALE  OF  TEARS, 

There's  nothing  in  this  vale  of  tears,  as  dearly  as 

we  love  it, 
But  takes  its  beauty  from  the  spheres  that  roll  on 

high  above  it ; 
If  stars,  which  shine  so  fair  and  bright,  should  from 

the  skies  be  driven, 
The  fairest  beauties   of    the   night   would   be   no 

longer  given. 

Next  take  the  moon,  celestial  queen, 

The  Heavenly  orbs  transcending ; 
And  lover's  walks  and  moonlight  scene 

Must  straightway  find  an  ending. 


260 


Obscure  the  sun,  celestial  King, 
Of  light  and  color  the  dispenser ; 

And  earth  contains  no  living  thing — 
Her  ashes  lie  in  shattered  censer. 

Oh !  let  the  broken  words,  impelled 
By  quivering  lips  and  aching  heart, 

Kecall  the  rising  passion  quelled, 
Restore  the  pangs  regrets  impart. 


To  A  LEARNED  ATHEIST. 

Bright  indeed  are  the  flashes  of  genius, 

Yet  bright  like  the  flash  of  a  gun, 

That  shines  far  away  in  the  darkness, 

But  cannot  be  seen  in  the  sun. 

The  knowledge  men  have  has  been  added 

By  little  and  little  to  stores 

Of  wisdom,  as  gems  of  the  ocean 

Have  washed  into  heaps  on  the  shores. 

There  is  something  sublime  in  the  teachings 

That  men  gather  up  from  the  past, 

But  the  lessons  they  glean  from  the  present 

Are  lessons  more  useful  at  last. 


261 


What  happened  to  Cyrus  and  Csesar 

Of  old  on  the  land  or  the  sea, 

Have  little  to  change  of  the  ventures 

That  happen  to  you  or  to  me. 

The  sun  and  the  moon  and  the  planets 

Koll  on  in  the  depths  of  the  sky, 

And  there  they  will  roll  in  the  ages 

Long  after  all  mortals  shall  die. 

The  most  we  can  know  is  so  feeble, 

So  full  of  misgiving  and  doubt, 

That  the  best  we  can  do  is  to  trust  Him 

Who  brought  all  we  know  about. 

November  2,  1881. 

The  above  was  written  on  reading  the  discussion  between  Col. 
Robert  Ingersoll  and  Judge  Jere.  Black. 


To  SLEEP. 

O,  sleep !  so  sweet  to  mortal  eyes, 
Enfold  me  with  thy  gentle  wings, 
And  let  me  feel  the  rest  that  brings 
Earth's  throbbing  heart  to  paradise. 


262 


OR    THIS. 

Now  fold  me  in  thine  angel  wings, 
O,  sleep !  so  sweet  to  mortal  eyes, 
And  let  me  feel  the  rest  that  brings 
The  weary  soul  its  paradise. 

November  19,  1881. 


FOUND  IN  "DEMOSTHENES/ 
AFTER  HIS  DEATH. 

Stir  not  the  latent  pangs 

Sleeping  within  my  heart ; 
Memory  hath  venomed  fangs, 

Bid  them  not  start. 
Discord  alone  it  brings, 
Striking  discordant  strings — 
Passions  deal  sufferings. 

Then  bid  me  not  recall 
Scenes  that  are  fading  fast — 

Let  them  be  banished  all. 


2G3 


KNOWLEDGE. 

Bring  in  thy  sheaves,  the  day  is  done, 

Fate's  mandate  is  condign  ; 

What  has  been  gleaned  is  thine, 
But  what  is  left,  by  others  must  be  won. 

Crave  not  the  things  that  might  have  been, 

Fret  not  at  chances  lost ; 

Count  up  the  gain,  the  cost, 
And  sigh  no  more  to  work  or  strive  or  win. 

An  end,  an  end  for  all  must  come, 

To  win,  to  lose,  are  past ; 

The  end  must  come  at  last — 
Who  fights  with  fate  fights  only  to  succumb. 

Life  is  but  one  long,  anxious  day, 
Whose  hours  are  sure  to  close ; 
With  work  still  left  for  those 

Who  choose  the  worthy  or  the  useful  way. 

Then  give  to  me  all  things  to  know, 

Of  good  and  evil  too  ; 

To  our  first  parents  true, 
This  fruit  I'll  taste,  from  Eden  though  I  go. 

1881. 


264 


MAN  A  CONTRADICTION. 

When  silence  broods  upon  the  night, 

Our  thoughts,  like  soldiers  roused,  are  loud  ; 

And  though  alone  we  feel  the  light 
Of  noon,  and  hear  its  busy  crowd. 

There  is  no  way  to  count  on  Fate, 
Or  drive  the  shadows  from  our  side  ; 

We  love  the  things  we  ought  to  hate, 
Exult  when  shame  should  banish  pride. 

The  infant's  breath  is  soonest  out, 
And  Life  to  Death  stands  ever  near  ; 

For  Faith  itself  is  full  of  doubt, 
And  Hope  has  everything  to  fear. 

We  crave  for  poison,  shun  our  food, 
And  strive  for  that  which  brings  but  ill ; 

We  spurn  the  things  that  do  us  good, 
And  seek  for  cure  in  things  that  kill. 

The  things  we  toil  for  clog  when  won, 
We  count  but  poor  the  joys  we  gain; 

We  grope  beneath  the  noonday  sun, 
And  laugh  at  danger  and  at  pain. 

Jan.  12,  1882. 


265 


To  MY  DAUGHTER  KATIE. 

May  peace  and  joy  thy  steps  attend, 
Dear  Katie,  gentle,  darling  child  ; 
And  God  our  Heavenly  Father,  mild, 

Be  ever  near  thee,  as  a  friend. 

May  all  thy  thoughts  be  free  from  sin, 
And  all  thy  actions  free  from  wrong ; 
And  may  thy  life  be  sweet  and  long, 

And  at  its  close  may  Heaven  begin. 

Jan.  16,  1882. 


SPEAK  GENTLY. 

What  can  the  head  do  rightly 

When  the  heart  is  afire  with  pain  ? 
And  how  can  the  mind  think  brightly 

When  fever  consumes  the  brain  ? 
Where  is  the  hand  that  is  hearty 

When  pressure  but  drives  a  thorn  ? 
And  who  can  enjoy  a  party 

Where  one  of  the  guests  is  Scorn  ? 

Pause  then,  and  cease  fault  finding, 
For  there  lives  not  a  faultless  one  ; 


266 


And  love  is  a  chain  best  binding 

The  hearts  by  forbearance  won  ; 
Tongues  that  are  swift  to  censure 

The  failings  that  all  must  share, 
Will  drive  away  those  who  venture 

Their  fretful  abuse  to  bear. 

#  %  •*  •&  * 

Be  not  swift  to  find  fault  with  one  you  love, 
Nor  fretted  at  the  failings  of  one  that  loves  you ; 

For  joy  would  be  banished  from  heaven  above, 
If  former  sorrows  were  kept  in  view. 

March  19,  1882. 


To  THE  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  F.  DARBY.* 

Sweet  be  thy  rest,  indomitable  sage  : 

Let  peace,  well  earned  by  toil,  succeed  old  age. 

Long  life  was  thine ;  and  honors  hard  to  gain 

Lent  joy  to  memory  and  pride  to  pain. 

Time  was  when  men  asked  favors  at  thy  hand, 

And  lavish  Fortune  heeded  thy  command  ; 

When  on  thy  head  there  towered  the  leader's  crest, 

And  ballots  named  thee  better  than  the  best. 


*Last  piece  of  poetry  ever  written  by  Col.  Slayback. 


Time  was  when  Fate  seemed  powerless  to  kill, 
And  death  stood  hesitant  before  thy  will. 
Time  was  when  glory  and  fair  fortune  fled, 
And  left  thee  battling  for  thy  daily  bread ; 
With  crippled  hands  and  torture-twisted  feet, 
The  eye  still  blazed,  the  cheerful  heart  still  beat, 
And  unrepining  to  thy  daily  task, 
Without  a  murmur,  or  a  boon  to  ask — 
Time  was  when  thou  didst  go,  with  scarce  a  friend 
To  heed  thy  struggles  or  thy  words  attend ; 
And  yet  thy  life  was  greater  at  the  last 
Than  when  around  thee  Fortune's  gifts  were  cast ; 
For  in  adversity  thy  dauntless  soul 
Eose  like  pure  genius,  bursting  all  control 
Except  its  own  strong  will,  and  left  behind 
Proof  that  man  has  no  master,  save  the  mind. 

ST.  Louis,  May  15,  1882. 


268 


STRAY  THOUGHTS. 


But  unless  the  pent-up  waters  flow 
Stagnation  makes  them  more  impure  ; 

And  griefs,  which  are  unuttered,  grow 
To  suffering  dire  beyond  a  cure. 


Of  all  the  loves  that  ever  were  loved,  this  love  was 

strongest  and  best ; 
For  it  rose  in  the  East  with  the  rising  sun,  and  went 

down  with  the  sun  in  the  West. 


Not  all  the  gold  in  all  the  ships 
That  ever  sailed,  on  all  the  seas, 
Could  tempt  me  to  live  o'er  again  , 
The  pangs  of  memory,  keen  with  pain, 
Since  first  I  learned  the  power  of  love, 
By  losing  first  the  power  to  please. 


As  through  the  darkly  clouded  sky 
Some  rift  reveals  but  one  pale  star, 

So  shines  on  me  one  faithful  eye, 

Though  darkness  robes  its  beams  afar. 


Should  scandal  cloud  the  name  I  love, 
As  dust  may  dim  the  diamond's  ray, 

Its  value  this  shall  not  disprove, 
Or  make  me  throw  the  gem  away. 


The  sharp,  keen  struggle  to  forget 
Hath  cast  oblivion  over  all  the  past, 
Save  those  same  scenes  I  would  erase — 
And  efforts  to  expunge  one  face 
Have  shed  dim  mist  o'er  all,  save  that. 


The  choicest  thoughts  are  often  unexpressed, 
The  kindest  words  unsaid. 


An  awkward,  unfortunate,  blundering  boy, 
Always  proud  of  bad  luck,  unaccustomed  to  joy, 
He  learned  ere  his  time  how  to  act  like  a  man, 
To  resist  any  wrong  and  be  true  to  his  clan ; 
To  pocket  no  slight  and  deserve  no  rebuff, 
And  to  pity  the  rogue,  when  his  foe  cried  ''enough.' 


270 


How  pulse  for  pulse,  and  throb  for  throb, 
Our  hearts  concordant  beat  together  ; 

Till  fate  our  friendship's  treasures  rob, 
And  force  me  from  thee,  dearest  other. 


He  was  a  minstrel ;  in  his  mood 

Was  wisdom  mixed  with  folly  ; 
A  tame  companion  for  the  good, 
But  wild  and  lierce  among  the  rude, 
And  jovial  with  the  jolly ! 


In  man  whom  men  condemn  as  ill 
I  find  so  much  of  goodness  still ; 

In  man  whom  men  pronounce  divine 
I  find  so  much  of  sin  and  blot : 

I  hesitate  to  draw  the  line 
Between  the  two — since  God  has  not. 


Ah!  who  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  climb 
The  steep  where  Fame's  proud  temple  shines  afar ! 

Ah !  who  can  tell  how  many  a  soul  sublime 
Hath  felt  the  influence  of  malignant  star, 
And  waged  with  fortune  an  eternal  war ! 


271 


Tear  one  mortal  more  from  earth, 
G-ive  one  angel  more  its  birth ; 
Dimmed  and  dull  the  sparkling  eyes, 
Till  they  flash  in  Paradise. 


Tell  me,  best  loved,  and  tell  me  true, 
If  'I  am  best  beloved  by  you  ? 
For  doubts  are  kin  to  pangs  of  death, 
And  doubting  takes  away  my  breath ; 
Then  from  my  soul  its  anguish  take, 
And  soothe  my  heart,  or  bid  it  break. 


Last  image  on  my  heart  ere  sleep 
Its  veil  o'er  memory  throws, 

And  first  when  wakened  senses  leap 
To  greet  the  dewy  rose. 


Not  the  lily  fingered  maid, 
Not  the  velvet  bosomed  lass, 

Nurtured  in  domestic  shade, 
Lives  in  marble  or  in  brass  ; 

Nor  the  plant  that  dares  the  storm 

Can  be  sensitive  in  form. 


272 


THE  MISSIONARY  OF  THE  19TH  CENTURY. 

His  out-of-door  smile  for  the  stranger  abroad, 
His  every-day  frown  for  his  home  ; 

He  has  not  a  red  for  the  poor  in  his  road, 
Bufc  he  pities  the  paupers — of  Rome. 


THOSE  WE  REMEMBER. 

We'll  not  forget  the  smile  of  those 
Who  never  can  forget  our  own ; 

Nor  those  who  gaze  upon  our  woes 
With  callous  look  or  angry  frown. 


A  Kiss. 

When  other  lips  on  thine  shall  burn, 
Their  second-handed  fun  I'll  covet, 

And  wonder  if  they  can  discern 
The  fire  I  left,  and  learn  to  love  it. 


ADDRESSES. 


ADDRESS  AT  THE  DECORATION  OF 
SOLDIERS'  GRAVES, 

Near    St.  Louis,   May  30th,    1873. 

LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN  :  When  the  feelings 
of  the  heart  are  touched,  the  utterances  of  the 
lips  are  imperfect.  Bear  with  me  then,  my 
friends,  to-day,  if  my  words  seem  poorly  chosen. 

The  grandeur  and  solemnity  of  this  scene  could 
borrow  no  impressiveness  from  displays  of  de- 
clamation, and  figures  of  speech  would  impair 
the  dignity  of  your  own  reflections. 

This  assemblage  is  only  one  of  thousands  like 
it  throughout  the  United  States,  whose  hands  and 
thoughts  are  busy  in  decorating  the  resting- 
places  of  the  gallant  dead  who  perished  in  the 
late  war. 


274 


But  our  observance  of  the  day  is  distinguished 
from  the  generality  by  a  feature  of  rare  and  ex- 
quisite signification — a  feature  that  is  local  now, 
but  destined,  as  we  hope,  to  become  national  here- 
after— a  feature  worthy  of  a  place  in  history,  as 
a  sign  of  the  times  in  which  we  live,  and  of  the 
feelings  which  animate  our  community.  It  is  this  : 

The  Union  soldiers  and  officers  of  St.  Louis 
having  in  charge  the  preparations  for  this  cele- 
bration, passed  a  resolution,  prompted  by  their 
own  lofty  and  humane  generosity,  to  the  effect 
that  surviving  Confederate  soldiers  be  invited  to 
participate  with  them  in  the  ceremonies  of  the 
day,  and  that  the  graves  of  the  soldiers  who  died 
in  the  one  cause  should  be  decorated  the  same  as 
of  those  who  fell  for  the  other. 

This  beautiful  and  heroical  action  has  met  with 
a  response  as  sincere  and  spontaneous  as  the  in- 
vitation was  characteristic. 

The  Committee  on  Speakers  have  selected  me, 
as  one  who  served  the  Confederacy  during  the 
war,  to  deliver  one  of  the  addresses  at  Jefferson 
Barracks,  and,  apprehensive  as  I  was  of  my  in- 
ability to  perform  the  exalted  duty  thus  imposed, 


275 


I  could  not  shrink  from  the  responsibility.  I 
come  with  you  upon  a  pilgrimage  of  respect  to 
the  memory  of  brave  men,  who  yielded  up  their 
lives  to  their  honest  convictions  of  duty. 

We  cannot  approach  this  spot  without  feelings 
of  deepest  awe. 

Jefferson  Barracks  is  suggestive  of  important 
historical  incidents  of  the  war,  and  in  this  ceme- 
tery Union  and  Confederate  soldiers  slumber  side 
by  side,  in  the  long,  last  sleep  of  death. 

And  here,  about  these  sacred  resting-places,  are 
gathered  the  reconciled  survivors,  and  the  faithful 
and  beautiful  beings  who  love  the  soldier  when 
living,  and  honor  him  when  dead — the  victors 
and  the  vanquished  paying  a  mutual  homage  at 
the  tomb  of  courage,  and  the  fair  hands  and 
graceful  forms  of  matron  and  maid  dedicating  the 
choicest  offerings  of  spring  at  the  shrine  of  valor. 

O,  my  countrymen !  what  a  spectacle  is  this  ! 
What  a  scene  for  the  painter  !  What  a  theme  for 
the  poet !  What  a  study  for  the  historian  of  the 
future ! 

In  the  annals  of  human  warfare,  where  can 
you  find  the  record  of  any  behavior  more  chival- 


276 


rous  and  admirable  than  the  conduct  of  the  Union 
soldiers  and  officers  of  St.  Louis  in  this  affair  ? 

It  is  true  that  from  the  most  remote  antiquity 
ceremonies  similar  to  these  have  been  celebrated 
by  every  cultured  nation. 

Flowers  have  had  a  delicate,  universal  language 
of  their  own,  so  ancient  that  its  origin  is  lost  in 
the  fables  of  mythology. 

But  it  has  been  reserved  for  the  climax  of 
Christian  civilization,  and  the  crowning  illustra- 
tion of  American  magnanimity,  to  make  the  floral 
pageantry  of  this  day  and  hour  the  occasion  for 
turning  the  wrath  of  enmity  into  praises,  and  the 
bitterness  of  mourning  into  the  sweet  uses  of  for- 
giveness and  reconciliation. 

The  argument  of  superior  force  may  sometimes 
be  unanswerable.  But  to  bring  harmony  out  of 
discord  requires  a  regard  for  the  nobler  and  bet- 
ter feelings  of  our  nature,  and  the  exercise  of  the 
higher  intellectual  faculties. 

When  conciliation  comes  mingling  with  our 
reverence  for  the  dead,  it  subdues  the  heart  and 
propitiates  the  understanding. 

And  what  nobler  tribute  could  be  paid  the  dead 


277 


than  this,  that  not  those  alone  who  had  been 
friends,  but  those  who  had  been  adversaries  too, 
should  come  to  do  honor  to  the  hero  in  his  grave  ? 
Not  that  our  words  can  reach  the  sleeper.  Ah !  no, 

"  His  blade  leaps  not  at  the  long,  loud  cry, 

Nor  starts  and  streams  with  crimson  dye ; 

He  no  more  shouts  '  Charge ! '  nor  the  brave  line  leads, 

For  he  sleeps  in  the  grave  of  his  glorious  deeds." 

But  here,  at  a  moment  sacred  to  his  memory, 
those  living  can  meditate  upon  the  fleetingness 
of  life,  look  into  each  other's  faces  for  com- 
passion, and  entreat  that  for  all  future  time  the 
dwellers  in  our  fair  and  bounteous  land  may  be 
brothers  and  friends,  and  countrymen,  indeed. 

It  matters  not,  now,  upon  which  side  these 
brave  men  contended.  They  were,  and  the  war 
has  decided  that  they  should  ever  remain,  our 
countrymen ! 

No  bosom  is  so  callous  as  to  comprehend  that 
word  and  look  upon  their  grave  without  com- 
punction. 

At  the  graves  of  those  we  venerate,  our 
thoughts  peer  deepest  into  immortality.  The 
fact  that  these  still  live  in  our  affections  is  the 


27* 


strongest  proof  we  have  that  our  own  souls  can 
never  die.  It  is  here  we  feel  nearest  to  their 
actual  presence. 

And  if  the  disembodied  spirits  of  men  are  per- 
mitted to  revisit  their  abodes  on  earth,  it  is  not 
stretching  the  imagination  far  to  see  the  shadowy 
hosts  hovering  over  us  to-day  as  we  are  assembled 
upon  the  hallowed  ground  where  their  bodies  re- 
pose, and  realize  that  they  are  influencing  our 
thoughts  and  feelings  with  angelic  inspiration. 

O,  gallant  spirits !  reproach  us  not  that  we  have 
anticipated  a  pleasure  of  your  calm  existence  by 
having  ceased  to  hate  on  earth.  We  feel  that  what 
we  do  is  prompted  by  your  own  heroic  wishes. 
We  lift  our  hands  to  you  and  invoke  your  co- 
operation. If  you  are  gifted  to  guide  the  thoughts 
and  actions  of  your  survivors,  let  the  purity  of 
our  motives  in  this  our  tribute  at  your  shrine 
make  us  welcome,  when  our  time  shall  come,  to 
dwell  in  your  starry  regions. 

Think  not,  my  friends,  that  one  of  these  has 
passed  away  in  vain.  In  the  economy  of  God, 
no  death  is  premature  where  a  human  life  is  dedi- 
cated to  an  honest  purpose. 


279 


But  those  of  us  who  outlive  them  are  respon- 
sible for  the  use  we  make  of  the  lesson  of  their 
lives.  In  the  olden  time  it  was  allotted  to  some 
to  perish  in  the  wilderness — to  others  to  reclaim 
and  beautify  the  promised  land.  It  has  been  the 
fate  of  these  to  die.  It  is  ours  for  a  little,  a  lit- 
tle, while  to  live. 

We  have  not  given  the  fatal  proof  of  fidelity 
to  the  cause  we  thought  the  right.  We  cannot 
share  the  martyr  wreaths  they  wear,  but  we  can 
honor  their  memory  by  leading  stainless  lives. 
But  it  remains  for  us  to  make  our  devotion  to  the 
welfare  of  our  country  as  faithful,  since  it  is  de- 
nied us  to  make  it  as  glorious,  as  theirs.  And 
God  grant  that  when  we  come  to  take  our  places 
with  them  we  may  not  slumber  in  dishonored 
graves. 

Posterity  will  look — a  generation  already  half- 
grown  since  these  brave  men  fell  is  already  look- 
ing— to  us  for  the  moral  and  political  import  of 
the  war  which  convulsed  this  continent,  and  in 
which  we  took  part,  some  on  one  side  and  some 
on  the  other. 

Its  results  are  not  all  known  as  yet.   Far  in  the 


280 


future  they  will  exert  a  powerful  influence  upon 
the  destinies  of  our  country. 

But  this  we  do  know.  That  the  modern 
prophets  have  been  much  at  fault  about  the  re- 
sults thus  far.  Of  these  results  none  can  be 
counted  more  remarkable  than  the  tranquility  the 
country  has  already  reached.  This  has  sorely 
perplexed  the  sages.  Such  a  strife  and  such  a 
pacification  were  never  witnessed  in  the  world 
before. 

It  is  unprofitable  to  speculate  about  what 
might  have  been.  It  is  wiser  to  recognize  the 
irresistible  logic  of  established  events. 

The  war  has  demonstrated  that  no  matter  what 
construction  the  American  citizen  may  place  up- 
on the  Constitution,  so  jealously  does  he  regard 
that  instrument  as  the  only  safeguard  of  the  lib- 
erties of  his  country,  that  rather  than  submit  to 
what  he  considers  an  infringement  upon  its  pro- 
visions, he  is  ready  to  die. 

The  love  of  constitutional  liberty  is  his  grand 
ruling  passion. 

It  is  apparent  that  outside  of  a  few  heartless 
agitators  each  party  was  sincere  in  the  belief  that 


the  other  party  was  inimical  to  the  principles  of 
the  Constitution. 

It  was  this  devotion  to  Constitutional  liberty, 
as  the  respective  sections  had  been  educated  to 
regard  it,  that  impelled  each  party  to  the  dread- 
ful onset,  and  it  was  this  same  principle  that 
made  peace  possible  after  the  sanguinary  en- 
counter was  over. 

It  may  be  that  wise  statesmanship  could  and 
should  have  averted  the  conflict.  But  it  was  not 
done,  and  we  can  only  deal  with  the  facts  as  we 
find  them.  In  the  settlement  of  complicated  dif- 
ficulties, it  is  sometimes  necessary  for  States  as 
for  individuals  to  have  a  fight  before  they  can 
come  to  a  satisfactory  and  peaceful  understanding. 

In  just  such  a  complication  the  sections  of 
this  country  were  involved  in  1861,  and  it,  per- 
haps, was  incumbent  upon  the  men  of  that  day 
to  fight.  But  now  that  the  controversy  is  over,  it 
is  not  incumbent  on  us  to  keep  up  enmity.  Two 
knights  once  disputed  as  to  the  color  of  a  shield. 
One  said  it  was  blue ;  the  other  said  it  was  green. 
The  code  was  appealed  to  and  both  were  mortally 
wounded.  Then  the  by-standers  discovered  that 


both  were  right,  and  both  were  wrong.  The 
shield  had  been  suspended  between  them.  One 
side  was  painted  blue  ;  the  other,  green.  Each 
had  stated  correctly  the  side  he  had  seen,  and  of 
course  had  misstated  the  side  he  had  not  seen. 

Missourians  have  just  cause  for  State  pride  in 
seeing  their  sons  step  forward  in  initiating  com- 
plete fellow-citizenship.  There  is  no  valid  reason 
why  it  should  be  deferred. 

The  Missouri  troops,  on  both  sides,  were  dis- 
tinguished for  being  the  foremost  soldiers  in  bat- 
tle, and  they  can  afford  to  let  those  who  did  not 
gain  any  distinction  in  the  field  quarrel  now. 

Missourians  are  done  with  that,  and  are  going 
on  now  at  something  else.  Life  is  too  short. 
They  have  no  time  to  waste.  The  present  urges. 
The  future  beckons.  They  have  something  better 
to  do  than  to  cherish  revenge.  They  cannot  re- 
call the  past.  They  cannot  bring  back  the  dead. 
They  cannot  be  enemies,  and,  since  they  have  de- 
termined to  be  countrymen,  they  have  resolved  to 
be  friends. 

This  day  decides  that  resentment  shall  not  mar 
the  future  of  our  beloved  country. 


283 


In  1865,  the  enemies  of  our  institutions  abroad 
made  sage  predictions  that  the  banner  of  the 
Southern  Cross  was  only  furled  for  a  time ;  but 
our  own  poet  said  that  it  was  furled  forever. 
And  furled  forever  let  it  be ! 

Toward  the  close  of  the  war  there  was  a  deeper 
dread  in  the  mind  of  the  Southern  soldier  than 
his  customary  encounter  of  superior  numbers  of 
armed  men.  It  was  not  that  he  stood  one  of 
eight  millions  facing  thirty  millions  that  caused 
him  to  succumb ;  it  was  not  that  he  felt  unwilling 
to  starve  and  go  ragged  ;  it  was  not  that  his  faith 
was  shaken  in  his  generals  ;  and  it  was  not  the 
ships,  the  money,  the  iron  or  the  splendid  muni- 
tions of  war  arrayed  against  him  that  reconciled 
him  to  abandon  the  unequal  contest  in  which  he 
had  so  often  and  so  freely  hazarded  his  life. 

It  was  not  that  he  had  forgotten  his  provoca- 
tions, or  underrated  them,  and  it  was  not  that  he 
was  a  traitor  to  his  cause. 

Then  why  did  he  surrender  ?  you  will  ask.  My 
friends,  I  will  tell  you  why  :  and  this  day  and 
hour  presents  the  first  fitting  opportunity  for  a 
true  Southern  man  to  make  such  a  disclosure 


284 


without  having  his  language  or  his  motives  mis- 
construed. 

I  will  tell  you  why  the  Southern  soldiers  grew 
weary  of  the  contest  and  surrendered  their  arms. 
It  was  because,  after  all  their  privations  and 
losses,  and  cruel  grief  over  the  bloody  graves  of 
their  fallen  comrades,  they  began  to  look  to  the 
future,  and  to  say:  "  Well,  what  then  ? " 

Made  wiser  by  the  stern  education  of  war,  their 
love  of  constitutional  liberty  made  them  tremble 
for  the  consequences  of  final  success.  They  saw 
that  the  end  of  the  war  in  that  way  would  be  but 
the  beginning  of  others. 

They  cast  their  eyes  upon  the  government  at 
Richmond,  and  its  constitution  recognizing  the 
right  of  any  State  in  certain  contingencies  to  set 
up  a  separate  nationality  for  itself,  with  its  little 
President  and  its  little  Senate,  its  little  Supreme 
Court  and  its  little  Navy,  with  its  Palmetto,  its 
Pelican,  or  its  Lone  Star  for  its  flag,  and  the 
soldier  began  to  ask  himself,  "  For  what  am  I 
fighting  ?  Will  my  children  be  better  off  when 
the  wrongs  I  am  redressing  shall  have  been  suc- 
ceeded by  others  of  greater  magnitude  (  Will 


285 


my  constitutional  rights  that  will  remain  to  me 
in  either  event  be  as  safe  under  the  new  nation- 
ality as  under  the  old?  And  what  can  posterity 
gain  by  exchanging  for  still  another  experiment 
the  illustrious  fabric  that  Washington,  Hamilton, 
Jefferson  and  Adams,  and  the  brave,  wise  and 
good  men  who  shared  their  counsels  and  their 
dangers,  established  and  bought  with  the  blood 
of  my  ancestry  of  the  revolution  of  1776  ? " 

It  was  this  appalling  logic  which  fastened  upon 
the  minds  of  the  Southern  soldiers 

"  Like  a  phantasm,  or  a  hideous  dream ;  " 
and  then,  and  not  until  then,  did   their  hearts 
begin  to  fail  them. 

Hence  it  was  that  when  they  furled  their  flag 
they  furled  it  forever. 

Hence  it  was  that  when  they  laid  down  their 
arms  they  did  so  with  the  full  expectation,  wish 
and  understanding  that  the  flag  they  had  fought 
should  become  the  emblem  of  their  chosen  na- 
tionality, and  that  from  thenceforth  and  forever 
these  States  should  be  in  fact,  as  in  name,  THE 
UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA. 

And  hence  it  was   that  when    the    Southern 


soldiers  gave  up,  they  surrendered  in  just  as 
dead  earnest  as  they  had  fought. 

The  generalship,  the  courage,  the  patience,  fidel- 
ity and  fortitude  of  the  Southern  army  awakened 
the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the  world.  They 
had  performed  prodigies  of  valor,  and  these 
prodigies  the  Federal  soldier  had  overcome. 
The  magnificent  energy  of  the  struggle  was  at  an 
end,  and  the  country  had  stood  the  test  of  a 
general  civil  war.  The  war  was  over.  But  there 
yet  remained  the  problem  of  pacification.  Could 
such  armies  be  disbanded  without  the  destruction 
of  social  order  ? 

Would  those  who  had  won  let  victory  suffice  ? 
Would  those  who  had  lost  resort  to  guerrilla  war- 
fare? Would  there  have  to  be  maintained  a 
standing  army  in  every  city,  a  garrison  in  every 
village,  to  hunt  down  human  tigers  in  every 
thicket,  swamp  and  mountain  ? 

Was  there  to  be  a  gibbet  in  every  churchyard, 
and  bushwhackers  in  the  tangled  breaks  of  every 
river  bank  ? 

The  question  was  of  profound  concern  to 
everybody.  It  had  to  be  decided,  then  and  there. 


287 


A  mistake  would  have  been  fatal ;  dela}7,  impos- 
sible. It  was  a  critical  moment. 

The  spirit  of  American  civilization  is  broad 
and  generous.  The  very  air  we  breathe  is  elec- 
tric with  magnanimity.  The  strength  to  over- 
come brave  men  in  battle  is  stimulated  by  a 
heroism  that  scorns  to  strike  down  an  unarmed 
foe.  But  beyond  any  of  these  considerations, 
the  American  soldier  was  swayed  by  a  sense  of 
political  duty,  and  in  this  trying  crisis,  once 
more  DEVOTION  TO  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CONSTI- 
TUTIONAL LIBERTY  lifted  him  above  the  passions 
and  madness  of  the  hour. 

The  surrender  had  been  unconditional.  But 
history  will  record  that  the  conditions  exacted 
were  as  honorable  to  those  who  imposed  as  to 
those  who  accepted  them. 

The  treatment  of  General  Lee  by  General  Grant 
at  Appomattox,  and  of  General  Joseph  E.  John- 
ston by  General  Sherman  at  Durham  Station, 
shed  a  lustre  upon  those  great  leaders  that  will 
only  brighten  with  the  lapse  of  time. 

And  on  the  other  hand  the  conduct  of  General 
Lee  and  General  Johnston  from  that  time  forward 
excelled  all  praise. 


288 


But  it  was  the  whole- souled  character  of  the 
soldiers  themselves  that  carried  into  practice  the 
illustrious  examples  of  their  commanders. 

Since  the  war  the  victors  have  conducted  them- 
selves with  moderation — the  vanquished  with 
manliness. 

On  the  one  hand  there  has  been  clemency  and 
forbearance  akin  to  sympathy.  On  the  other, 
acquiescence  in  the  new  order  of  things,  and  an 
honest  endeavor  to  repair  the  damages  of  the 
war. 

The  sword  of  the  stronger,  flushed  with  victory, 
has  been  sheathed  in  its  scabbard.  The  hand  of 
the  weaker  has  not  reached  out  for  the  sword  of 
which  it  has  been  disarmed.  The  one  has  dis- 
dained advantage.  The  other  has  detested  re- 
venge. The  one  has  been  tenderly  generous. 
The  other  has  been  proudly  grateful. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  why  such  men  should 
not  forgive  each  other.  Animosity  can  only  mar 
the  happiness  of  both,  and  narrow  indeed  must 
be  the  soul  which  could  desire  to  keep  it  up. 
When  Rome's  immortal  orator  was  reproached 
for  defending  a  former  enemy,  he  exclaimed : 


"  Neque  me  vero  poenitet  mortales  inimicitias  sem- 
piternas  amicitias  lidbere"  And  why  should  not 
we  too  boast  that  our  enmities  are  mortal  as  the 
garlands  that  we  bring,  and  our  friendships  as 
enduring  as  the  grave  that  they  adorn. 

Empires  rise,  flourish,  crumble  and  decay. 
The  marble  of  the  new  is  exhumed  from  the  ruins 
of  the  old.  The  destiny  of  nations  is  guided  by 
a  Power  above  and  beyond  the  will  of  man. 
They  are  born,  grow  old  and  die  as  individ- 
uals by  an  inscrutable  law  ordained  by  the 
All-wise  Lawgiver  of  the  Universe.  For  some 
reason  beyond  our  search,  mankind  have  always 
been  at  war;  and  while  the  laws  governing 
human  nature  remain  the  same,  wars  will  go  on 
until  the  millenium.  The  war-making  capacity 
of  a  nation  determines  its  rank  among  the  na- 
tions of  the  world,  and  the  military  genius  of  its 
people  is  a  test  of  its  durability.  The  individual 
must  be  willing  to  perish  that  his  nationality, 
through  his  devotedness,  may  live  on.  And  no 
first-class  power  has  ever  yet  existed  so  supreme 
that  it  could  afford  to  alienate  the  affections  or 
disregard  the  rights  of  any  considerable  number 
of  its  citizens. 

290 


And,  my  friends,  just  as  long  as  our  country 
remains  liable  at  any  time  to  become  involved  in 
war,  we  owe  it  to  ourselves  and  our  children  to 
preserve  the  good-will  of  the  soldiers  of  the 
republic  towards  our  beloved  institutions,  and 
stimulate  their  devotion  to  constitutional  liberty. 
And  who  are  now  our  soldiers  ?  Are  they  con- 
fined to  a  section?  Are  they  embraced  in  a 
creed?  Do  they  belong  to  a  class?  No!  The 
army  that  keeps  the  outside  world  in  awe  is  com- 
posed of  all  citizens  capable  of  bearing  arms,  of 
all  sections,  political  parties  and  antecedents. 
The  stalwart  and  valiant  men  who  are  now  busy 
everywhere  plying  the  forge,  holding  the  plow, 
pushing  the  industries  of  every  section,  and  re- 
gion and  State — a  self-sustaining  host,  governing 
themselves,  and  capable  of  defending  that  govern- 
ment against  the  combined  world  in  arms — these 
constitute  the  true  grand  army  of  the  republic. 
And  God  grant  that  civil  strife  may  never  again 
darken  and  desolate  our  homes ;  that,  whenever 
duty  calls  upon  the  citizens  of  the  United  States 
to  repel  invasion  or  vindicate  the  national  honor, 
no  grievances  may  lurk  behind  us,  but  may  we 


291 


all  be  found  side  by  side  in  the  lists  of  glory, 
battling  for  the  sacred  principle  of  constitutional 
liberty. 

Oh,  priceless  boon !  purchased  at  inestimable 
cost !  For  this  the  men  we  commemorate  to-day 
have  died.  They  died  that  we  might  live  in 
peace,  contentment  and  good- will.  Let  us  hallow 
their  dust.  Let  us  honor  their  courage.  Let  us 
venerate  their  motives.  Let  us  cherish  their 
memory ! 


WOMANLY  AMBITION. 

An  Address  before  the  Young  Ladies'  Literary  Society  of  Lin- 
denwood  Female  College,  St.  Charles,  Mo.,  June  3,  1875. 

Love  of  glory  is  the  universal  passion  of  man- 
kind. It  is  the  actuating  principle  in  every  grand 
achievement,  and  in  a  modified  degree  it  prompts 
the  lowly  as  it  stirs  the  great. 

The  desire  of  power  and  influence,  the  love  of 
praise,  the  struggle  for  eminence,  the  emulation 
to  out-do  others,  that  honor  and  distinction  among 
men  may  follow,  may  all  be  summed  up  in  one 
word,  ambition. 


The  effect  of  this  passion  upon  individual  life 
and  character  is  of  infinite  diversity,  and  varies 
with  the  innate  disposition  and  external  circum- 
stances of  every  human  being.  Action  and  mo- 
tive are  often  discordant.  Persons  intend  one 
thing,  and  find  they  have  done  another ;  desire 
one  fate,  and  have  to  accept  another.  And  yet 
for  all  this,  the  soul  that  is  resolute  performs  so 
many  exploits  that  savor  of  impossibility,  that 
those  who  wish  to  do  something  grand  in  the 
world  find  more  force  in  what  they  wish  than  what 
they  know.  The  wishes  of  the  heart  put  brain 
and  hand  to  work.  The  intellect  is  dormant  un- 
til the  feelings  call  its  contriving  powers  into  ex- 
ercise. Thought  succeeds  to  impulse.  Action 
follows  thought.  Results  follow  action.  Success 
smiles  only  on  persistent  toil  and  vigilance. 
Thus  is  the  record  made  up  of  human  achieve- 
ment, and  thus  the  cherished  ambition  of  any 
life  goes  far  to  shape  its  career  and  fix  its  destiny. 

When  ambition  springs  from  proper  motives, 
it  is  laudable,  and  stimulates  all  the  faculties  to 
their  loftiest  energy.  When  it  emanates  from 
selfish  greed  for  advantage  over  others,  it  is  sa- 


293 


tanic.  The  one  is  true ;  the  other,  false.  The 
one  has  been  said  to  raise  mortals  to  the  skies. 
The  other  to  drag  angels  down. 

Ambition,  in  its  charitable  sense,  is  consistent 
with  every  womanly  attribute. 

The  wish  to  attain  excellence,  the  desire  to  con  • 
fer  blessings  and  to  earn  gratitude,  the  holy  as- 
piration to  be  goodly  great  and  greatly  good, 
are  the  noblest  incentives  that  can  actuate  a  soul. 
These  incentives  have  belonged  to  women,  as  to 
men,  ever  since  the  world  began,  and  will  so  con- 
tinue as  long  as  the  world  may  last.  Side  by 
side  in  the  lists  of  the  truly  great,  the  names  of 
illustrious  women  vie  with  those  of  distinguished 
men,  both  in  war  and  peace.  In  statesmanship, 
diplomacy,  philosophy,  literature,  science  and 
art — as  ruler,  as  teacher,  as  poet — in  all  the  loftier 
planes  of  intellectual  attainment,  women  of  gen- 
ius have  left  as  enduring  monuments  of  great- 
ness as  the  men.  In  our  own  day,  the  sculptor, 
the  author,  the  orator,  and  the  king,  win  no  fairer 
renown  than  the  sculptress,  the  authoress,  the 
oratress,  and  the  queen.  It  is,  therefore,  fair  to 
assume  that,  in  intellect,  woman  is  the  equal  of 


294 


man,  and  if  there  are  distinctions  between  manly 
and  womanly  ambition,  they  consist  rather  in  the 
quality  than  in  the  quantity  of  characteristic 
force. 

Men  love  power  for  the  sake  of  dominion ; 
women  for  the  sake  of  splendor.  Men  demand 
obedience ;  women  admiration.  Men  seize  the 
sword ;  women  the  scepter.  Men  conquer  that 
they  may  rule  ;  women  that  they  may  reign. 
Man  is  ambitious  to  give  battle ;  woman  to  be 
supreme  in  the  hearts  of  her  people.  Men  like 
to  be  formidable  abroad ;  women  to  be  beloved 
at  home.  Men  fight  for  fame  ;  women  shrink  from 
reproach.  Men  glory  in  their  strength;  women 
in  their  delicacy  and  refinement.  Men  study  self- 
promotion  ;  women  the  promotion  of  those  they 
love.  Man's  ambition  is  to  subdue  ;  woman's  to 
please.  Man's  ambition  revels  in  the  triumphs 
of  the  world  ;  but  the  ambition  of  a  true  woman 
is  consecrated  to  God. 

Semiramis  leading  the  Assyrian  hosts  ;  Zenobia 
at  the  head  of  her  army,  making  armed  protest 
against  the  ruin  of  her  beloved  Palmyra  by  the 
mailed  legions  of  Rome;  Joan  d'Arc  inspiring 


•21)5 


the  drooping  defenders  of  France  against  the  vic- 
torious English ;  and  Marie  Antoinette  enduring 
the  awful  terrors  of  execution  with  sublime  forti- 
tude, are  historical  instances  among  thousands 
that  could  be  named,  to  prove  that  women  are  as 
exalted  in  their  courage  and  their  heroism  as  men. 

Every-day  life  points  to  the  same  conclusion. 
The  statistics  of  the  census  show  that  where  num- 
bers are  about  equal,  women  possess  more  moral 
courage  and  fortitude  than  men.  Man  pleads,  as 
his  excuse  for  intemperance  and  crime,  that  he  is 
poor,  that  he  is  wretched,  that  he  is  tempted. 
But  woman,  equally  poor,  equally  wretched, 
equally  tempted,  resists  the  temptation,  and  does 
not  yield  to  intemperance  and  crime. 

The  police  reports  show  the  cringing  slaves  of 
intemperance  are  mostly  men.  The  criminal 
records  show  that  nearly  all  the  criminals  are 
men.  Intellectually  man's  equal,  morally  his 
superior,  woman's  ambition  is  purer,  nobler,  and 
more  truly  heroic. 

There  are  occasions  when  to  be  patient  is  to  be 
great ;  to  be  silent  is  to  be  heroic  ;  to  be  uncom- 
plaining partakes  of  the  sublime.  It  is  on  such 


296 


occasions  that  the  average  woman  is  superior  to 
the  average  man,  and  that  the  truly  great  women 
furnish  evidences  of  character  so  exalted  that 
they  seem  to  rise  above  the  human,  and  to  be 
angelic  in  their  natures.  There  may  be,  there- 
fore, a  womanly  ambition  to  excel  in  those  ad- 
mirable characteristics  which  are  beyond  the 
capabilities  of  man,  and  in  which  she  is  by 
nature  his  superior.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
are  many  things  right  enough  in  themselves 
which  a  woman  of  refinement  cannot  engage  in 
without  compromising  her  sense  of  delicacy.  A 
true  woman  has  an  innate  modesty  that  holds  in 
subjection  every  wish  of  her  heart.  Men  may 
seek  notoriety  as  the  prelude  to  more  enduring 
fame.  A  woman  cannot  do  this,  and  with  sub- 
lime resignation  many  a  woman,  who  knows 
within  her  soul  that  she  is  great,  shrinks  from 
celebrity  and  lives  for  those  she  loves.  Nay, 
more — she  is  content  to  let  them  wear  the  bays 
that  might  have  crowned  her  own  brow.  Many 
a  man  achieves  fortune  through  the  sound  sense 
of  his  wife.  Many  a  man  has  been  illustrious 
on  brain-capital  furnished  by  a  woman.  But  for 


Aspasia,  Pericles  would  never  have  established 
that  republic  of  letters  which  gave  to  Greece  its 
golden  age ;  but  for  Isabella,  Columbus  would 
never  have  discovered  America ;  but  for  Ma- 
linchi,  Cortez  would  never  have  conquered  Mex- 
ico; but  for  Miss  Dent,  Ulysses  Grant  would 
never  have  been  President  of  the  United  States. 
Almost  every  illustrious  man  who  ever  lived 
became  distinguished  by  following  the  advice 
of  some  sensible  woman,  and  many  of  these 
same  men  fell  from  their  highest  estate  by  sin- 
ning against  her  better  judgment  and  purer  in- 
tellectuality. 

Woe  be  to  the  man  who  dares  to  trample  her 
under  his  feet ! 

Alexander  the  Great,  Tarquin,  Julius  Csesar, 
Napoleon  and  Byron  are  examples  of  warning  to 
mankind  that  the  greatest  cannot  escape  destruc- 
tion if  they  sin  against  woman's  better  promptings 
or  reject  her  counsel.  And  our  own  beloved 
Washington  points  the  moral  of  maintaining  a 
proper  deference  for  her  true  worth  and  intel- 
lectual power  ;  and  in  nearly  every  household  in 
the  land  the  sweet,  placid  face  of  Martha  Wash- 


298 


ington  smiles  from  the  same  wall  along  with  the 
Father  of  his  Country.  She  never  dreamed  of 
such  renown  as  this,  but  did  her  duty,  and  gave 
her  advice  and  managed  her  estate  in  good 
womanly  fashion  for  the  sake  of  a  better  reward 
than  fame — the  approval  of  her  own  conscience, 
the  advancement  of  her  husband's  interests,  and 
the  hope  of  that  eternal  crown  reserved  for  the 
chosen  of  God. 

Women  are  often  ambitious  to  have  influence 
in  directions  that  render  them  unhappy.  They 
wish  to  be  lawyers  and  doctors,  and  preachers 
and  newspaper  reporters,  etc.  Some  of  them  do 
very  well,  too.  But  in  aspiring  to  eminence  in 
such  pursuits,  a  woman  throws  away  her  chances 
of  best  success,  and  gives  up  her  greatest  power. 
She  is  heiress  to  the  crown  in  the  social  kingdom* 
Her  highest  supremacy  can  be  reached  in  those 
fields  of  usefulness  which  tend  to  make  homes 
happy.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  paradise  on 
earth  without  a  pure,  good  woman  as  its  ruling 
spirit — its  gentle  law-giver,  regulating  its  peace 
by  the  wonderful  harmonies  of  love  and  sym- 
pathy. 


There  are  a  great  many  little  kingdoms  called 
homes.  Unless  they  are  governed  by  the  power 
of  woman's  rule,  they  are  dreary  places.  With- 
out her  taste,  her  care,  her  skill,  palaces  and  cot- 
tages ar'e  but  miserable  under  whatever  govern- 
ment man  can  devise. 

It  is  woman's  proud  office  to  govern  and  sanctify 
home,  and  to  make  its  influence  sacred. 

The  young  and  the  aged  look  to  her  gentle  hand 
for  tenderness,  and  the  strong  and  the  weary  look 
to  her  for  rest.  Instinctively  she  loves  truth. 
Naturally  she  recoils  from  dishonor,  and  by  tra- 
dition she  preserves  the  fidelity,  the  honest  pride 
and  the  priceless  decencies  of  the  family  fireside. 

There  is  no  field  for  womanly  ambition  so 
suited  to  her  natural  genius  as  excellence  in  do- 
mestic pursuits. 

"  Honor  and  fame  from  no  condition  rise  ; 
Act  well  your  part — there  all  the  honor  lies." 

Ambition,  to  be  wholesome  in  its  effects,  should 
be  within  bounds  and  conformable  to  the  situa- 
tion and  circumstances  of  the  individual.  It 
must  be  directed  in  channels  of  common  sense 
and  possibility.  Not  only  mental,  but  physical, 


endowments  must  be  taken  into  account.  Persons 
capable  of  attaining  distinction  as  poets  might 
fail  as  mechanics.  The  accidents  of  birth,  station, 
property,  relationship  to  others,  and  the  times  in 
which  one  lives,  must  all  be  reconcilable  with  the 
object  to  be  accomplished. 

In  reading  the  story  of  any  remarkable  life, 
what  little  things  seem  to  have  occasioned  the 
great  ones !  Through  what  years  of  patient  ob- 
scurity most  of  the  famous  were  disciplined ! 

Ah !  who  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  climb 
The  steep  where  Fame's  proud  temple  shines  afar? 

Ah !  who  can  tell  how  many  a  soul  sublime 
Hath  felt  the  influence  of  malignant  star, 

And  waged  with  Fortune  an  eternal  war  ? 

Sometimes  persons  are  great  in  one  direction, 
and  ambitious  in  another.  Sound  judgment 
should  always  be  consulted,  or  ambition  becomes 
ridiculous.  It  would  be  out  of  place  for  a 
woman  to  be  a  blacksmith  or  a  stage  driver.  A 
woman's  ambition  should  prompt  her  to  en- 
deavor to  excel  in  those  things  for  which  she 
is  adapted.  I  have  seen  a  little  girl  put  on  her 
mother's  dress,  and  peep  over  her  shoulder  to  see 


301 


how  she  looked  wearing  a  train.  Some  grown- 
up persons  are  as  absurd  as  this  little  child  in 
fun.  A  woman  has  to  consider  not  only  what 
she  can  do,  but  what  would  be  proper  and  be- 
coming for  her  to  do.  She  should  never  lose  her 
good  taste.  It  is  therefore  most  important  for  a 
woman  who  has  ambition  not  to  mistake  her 
work. 

This  brings  us  to  consider,  what  is  womanly 
work  ?  The  question  is  sometimes  right  difficult 
to  answer.  It  depends  a  good  deal  on  circum- 
stances. It  may  become  necessary,  in  the  life  of 
any  woman,  to  earn  an  honest  living  in  the  world. 
Too  little  attention  is  paid  by  parents  and  edu- 
cators to  this  important  contingency. 

It  is  too  often  taken  for  granted,  that  if  a  girl 
be  fair,  winsome,  and  intelligent,  she  need  never 
trouble  herself  about  it.  And  yet  it  is  worthy 
her  most  serious  consideration.  It  is  the  fashion 
for  mothers  to  have  a  false,  pernicious  ambition 
for  their  daughters  to  have  worthless  hands  and 
haughty  hearts;  bent  upon  making  display  in 
what  is  called  the  best  society,  and  repel  the 
thought  that  these  girls  ever  had  to  depend  upon 


themselves.  It  is  a  cruel  wrong,  this  false  ambi- 
tion of  mothers.  Cruel  to  themselves,  and  still 
more  cruel  to  their  daughters.  True  ambition 
and  true  kindness  alike  dictate  that  every  girl, 
no  matter  what  her  station,  should  be  carefully 
instructed  in  some  useful  industry  for  which  there 
is  a  market  demand,  and  by  which  an  honest  sup- 
port can  be  made.  I  hesitate  to  lift  the  veil  of 
reality  to  bright  young  eyes  before  me.  But 
scarcely  a  day  passes  in  the  office  of  any  business 
man  in  our  large  cities  that  some  young  lady 
does  not  come  with  lamentations  that  she  has 
been  compelled  by  changes  in  the  fortunes  of 
those  she  depended  upon  to  go  forth  in  the  world 
to  struggle  for  subsistence.  She  is  told  to  teach 
school.  "  Alas  !  sir,  I  am  not  thorough  enough  in 
anything  to  teach.  I  cannot  get  a  situation  over 
graduates  of  the  Normal  School,"  She  is  told  to 
sew.  "  Alas !  I  have  never  been  taught  to  sew  ; 
I  cannot  even  make  my  own  dresses.  I  cannot 
compete  with  girls  trained  to  sew,  and  they  almost 
starve  at  it."  She  is  told  to  learn  millinery. 
"  Alas !  to  learn  that  requires  time  and  money, 
and  I  have  neither.  Apprentices  are  not  paid 


303 


even  their  board."  She  is  told  to  copy  manu- 
scripts. "  Alas  !  there  is  no  bread  in  that.  What 
little  there  is  in  that  line  is  absorbed  by  expert 
penmen  who  work  rather  for  employment  than 
for  pay."  She  is  told  to  seek  a  situation  as  a 
nurse  or  house-girl.  "  Sir,  I  have  been  tenderly 
raised.  Raised  as  a  lady,  and  the  equal  of  any 
one.  I  cannot  consent  to  be  reduced  to  servitude." 

And  the  misguided  ambition  of  the  mother 
shines  through  eyes  that  are  full  of  tears —  tears 
of  agony,  tears  that  would  never  have  flowed  if 
the  mother  had  done  her  duty  and  taught  the 
girl  to  work. 

So  this  girl — educated,  as  the  fashion  goes  ;  ac- 
complished, as  it  is  falsely  called ;  worthless,  in 
fact,  for  the  grand  mission  of  self-preservation, 
comes  to  grief  and  must  seek  refuge  in  a  distaste- 
ful marriage,  or  humiliating  dependence  upon 
those  to  whom  she  is  a  burden. 

True  ambition  would  raise  every  girl  so  as  to 
make  an  independent  support  for  herself,  if 
necessity  should  demand  it.  Nay,  more,  to  direct 
her  energies  in  some  useful  occupation  that  will 
enlist  her  mind  as  well  as  her  hand,  circumscribe 


304 


her  leisure  hours,  absorb  her  time,  limit  her 
wishes,  keep  her  out  of  mischief  and  aloof  from 
temptation. 

-5  It  is  a  crying  evil  and  a  shame  in  this  country 
that  girls  should  not  be  better  prepared  for 
changes  of  fortune  by  being  taught  to  work  ;  and 
not  merely  taught  to  work,  but  trained  to  work 
at  something  that  will  earn  bread. 

This  may  be  plain,  perhaps  unpleasant,  talk, 
but  there  are  few  very  secure  fortunes  in  this 
country,  and  I  have  seen  the  daughter  of  a  mil- 
lionaire reduced  to  poverty,  deserted  by  her  hus- 
band for  no  fault  of  hers,  living  upon  the  charity 
of  her  former  slaves. 

When  such  transmutations  are  possible,  what 
security  is  there  for  the  daughters  of  aristocrats, 
worth  from  five  to  ten  thousand  dollars  ?  Every 
sign  in  nature,  every  voice  within  us,  every  wise 
teaching  that  come  to  us  from  without,  admonish 
us  that  earth  is  but  a  colony,  and  that  usefulness 
in  some  industry  is  the  condition  upon  which  a 
settler  is  received,  and  the  idle  are  but  burthens 
whose  room  would  be  better  than  their  company. 

This  is  a  topic  that  is  spoken  of  oftener  in  a 


305 


whisper  in  the  family  circle  than  in  polite  society. 
But  a  woman  does  not  like  to  be  under  pecuniary 
obligations  and  her  sensitive  nature  scorns  debt. 
It  is  a  great  pity  that  our  customs  and  con- 
ventionalities do  not  provide  more  ways  for  the 
remunerative  employment  of  women  who  are  am- 
bitious to  earn  an  honest  living  ;  for,  be  assured, 
this,  too,  is  a  womanly  ambition. 

There  is  need  and  there  is  room  for  hard  think- 
ing and  practical  invention  on  this  subject  of 
work  that  will  pay,  and  work  that  women  can  do 
without  being  ashamed  of  ridicule,  or  at  the  risk 
of  endangering  the  health. 

Besides,  the  errors  prevalent  about  womanly 
work,  our  customs  and  conventionalities  occasion 
other  false  ambitions.  To  be  the  belle  of  a  ball ; 
to  lead  the  fashion ;  to  put  on  style  in  dress  ;  to 
marry  a  count,  or  some  other  nobody,  with  a 
large  foreign  title ;  to  be  considered  beautiful ; 
to  excite  the  envy  of  the  other  girls  and  cut  them 
out  in  the  admiration  of  their  sweet-hearts;  to 
display  extravagant  jewelry ;  to  go  around  col- 
lecting money  in  little  ridiculous  sums  to  get  a 
reputation  as  alms-givers  by  making  others  con- 


tribute  to  charities  that  they  do  not  like  to  give 
to  themselves ;  to  belong  to  the  lobby  of  Congress, 
or  the  Legislature — all  these  are  morbid,  false,  un- 
womanly ambitions,  that  lead  to  bitterness  and 
sorrow. 

They  are  beneath  the  ambition  of  a  true  woman, 
and  unworthy  of  a  wise  one,  who  chooses,  like 
Mary,  "  the  better  part." 

What  is  worth  living  for  ?  What  is  worth  dy- 
ing for  ?  These  are  the  questions  that  underlie 
all  human  endeavor.  Make  up  your  mind  in 
answer  to  these,  and  you  will  know  what  exist- 
ence is  worth. 

A  woman's  life  can  be  exalted  and,  sublime  in 
itself,  without  being  made  conspicuous  in  the 
world.  It  is  not  only  her  province  to  be  truly 
great,  but  to  be  the  inspiring  cause  of  true  great- 
ness in  others.  She  is  the  natural  teacher  of  the 
world.  Hers  are  the  moral  forces  ;  it  is  hers  to 
suggest  grand  ideas ;  it  is  hers  to  rebuke  exalted 
error ;  it  is  hers  to  sanction  or  to  condemn  the 
elaborate  evolutions  of  man's  mental  exertion. 
Her  quiet  judgment  is  more  decisive  than  debate  ; 
her  persistent  disapprobation  is  often  more 


dreadful  than  battle.  Napoleon  could  overthrow 
the  veteran  legions  of  armed  Europe,  but  he  could 
not  endure  the  refined  criticism  of  Madame  de 
Stael. 

Skeptics  may  cavil  and  infidels  croak,  but  as 
the  mothers  in  the  land  find  peace,  comfort  and 
refuge  in  the  consolations  of  religion,  its  teach- 
ings and  its  blessings  will  sanctify  the  homes 
and  hearts  of  the  faithful.  Armies  cannot  crush, 
argument  cannot  shake,  the  doctrines  that  she 
teaches  to  the  children  at  her  knee.  Trial,  per- 
secution, martyrdom  look  into  her  faithful  face, 
and  renew  their  trust  in  God. 

"  Not  she  with  traitorous  lips  the  Master  stung  ; 
Not  she  betrayed  him  with  unfaithful  tongue. 
She,  when  apostles  fled,  could  danger  brave ; 
Last  at  the  cross,  and  earliest  at  the  grave." 

Her  fidelity  is  truer  than  man's.  Her  pure  af- 
fection only  ends  with  life. 

There  is  nothing  in  all  literature  more  charac- 
teristic of  woman,  or  more  touching,  than  Ruth's 
reply  to  Naomi :  "  Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee, 
or  to  return  from  following  after  thee,  for  whither 
thou  goest  I  will  go,  and  where  thou  lodgest  I 


308 


will  lodge ;  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and 
thy  God  my  God.  Where  thou  diest  I  will  die, 
and  there  will  I  be  buried." 

A  true  woman  does  good  for  its  own  sake,  and 
wishes  as  little  said  about  it  as  possible.  She 
would  rather  die  in  obscurity  than  to  have  fame 
throughout  the  world,  coupled  with  fame's  twin 
sister — calumny.  It  is  within  her  province  to 
study  those  things  which  bless  and  benefit 
others. 

Through  patriotism  for  her  people,  Esther 
periled  her  life  and  her  position  ;  and  every-day 
life  brings  into  observation  the  self-denying, 
self- sacrificing  devotion  of  woman,  struggling 
with  heroic  disregard  to  censure  or  applause,  to 
promote  the  welfare  of  others. 

Scarcely  a  day  passes  in  any  life  that  the  judg- 
ment of  each  individual  is  not  called  upon  to 
decide  in  the  conflict  between  inclination  and 
duty.  *  You  are  to  choose  and  to  decide — to  decide 
and  to  persevere — to  persevere  and  to  conquer, 
or  to  surrender  and  die.  If  the  wishes  of  the 
heart  are  kept  right,  the  will  to  do  or  to  suffer 
for  the  sake  of  right  must  triumph.  What  you 


309 


wish  to  do  becomes  your  ambition  just  as  soon 
as  you  are  in  earnest.  You  can  only  be  in 
earnest  when  you  feel  your  secret  thoughts  and 
wishes  are  inspired  by  resignation  to  the  will 
of  God.  Would  you  be  truly  great,  cultivate 
thoughts  and  wishes  that  are  ennobling.  Would 
you  be  truly  good,  look  to  the  Divine  source  of 
all  goodness. 

u  Whatsoever  things  are  true ;  whatsoever 
things  are  just;  whatsoever  things  are  pure; 
whatsoever  things  are  lovely ;  whatsoever  things 
are  of  good  report ;  if  there  be  any  virtue,  and 
if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on  these  things." 

To  build  up  pleasant  places  along  the  paths  of 
life ;  to  soothe  the  brow  of  pain ;  to  watch  the 
bedside  of  the  sick ;  whisper  words  of  sympathy 
to  troubled  hearts;  to  inspire  with  hope  and 
courage  the  weak  and  weary  victims  of  despair ; 
to  point  with  hands  angelic  to  the  mercy- seat  of 
God,  and,  in  the  unobtrusive  spirit  of  the  Great 
Master,  to  win  back  the  erring  and  the  wayward 
to  a  sense  of  duty ;  to  purify  the  conscience  and 
exalt  the  purposes  of  the  young :  these  things 


310 


are  great.  Life  cannot  be  dedicated  to  nobler 
aspirations,  death  cannot  close  upon  sublimer 
career.  And  yet  they  are  all  consistent  with 
womanly  ambition. 


LEAGUED  LAWYERS. 

The  Colorado  State  Bar  Association  Formed.    Address  by  Col. 
Slayback,  of  St.  Louis,  at  Denver,  Sept.  llth,  1882. 

The  members  of  the  legal  profession  of  Col- 
orado met  for  the  purpose  of  forming  a  state  bar 
association  in  the  United  States,  with  an  attend- 
ance of  about  150  of  the  leading  lawyers  of  the 
state. 

Col.  A.  W.  Slayback,  of  St.  Louis,  who  had 
been  invited  to  be  present  and  deliver  an  address, 
was  then  introduced  by  the  chair  and  spoke  as 
follows : 

MR.  CHAIRMAN  AND  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  COLO- 
RADO BAR  :  I  have  lingered  beyond  the  time  con- 
templated for  my  return  to  my  distant  home,  that 
I  might  not  seem  unmindful  of  the  distinguished 
honor  conferred  by  the  invitation  to  address  you 


311 


upon  the  occasion  of  your  convention,  for  the 
purpose  of  forming  a  state  bar  association. 

The  object  for  which  you  are  assembled  is  one 
which  naturally  enlists  the  cordial  co-operation 
of  every  one  who  holds  in  reverence  the  higher 
aims  and  purposes  of  your  profession.  Lawyers 
devote  their  lives  to  the  advocacy  of  human 
rights,  and  to  the  proper  administration  of 
justice. 

They  study  books  and  study  men.  They  in- 
vestigate science  itself,  and  thrust  the  probe  of 
disputation  into  the  very  vitals  of  philosophy  in 
order  that  truth  may  live  and  error  die. 

The  discipline  of  their  profession  tends  to  en- 
larged and  constantly  enlarging  charity.  They 
know  what  it  is  for  the  best  of  friends  to  main- 
tain different  opinions  upon  an  agreed  state  of 
facts.  They  know  what  it  is  to  see  their  deepest 
and  most  earnest  convictions  overruled  by  the 
solemn  judgment  of  courts,  whose  honesty  of 
purpose  cannot  be  questioned,  and  again,  where 
their  own  doubts  prevail,  they  find,  after  careful 
argument,  that  the  actual  right  is  where  they  first 
surmised  a  wrong.  The  legislature  frames  a  law ; 


312 


the  courts  expound  it ;  but  the  lawyers  must  see 
that  the  law,  so  made  and  expounded,  is  prop- 
erly applicable  to  the  facts  of  each  particular 
case.  Differences  of  opinion  arise — honest  dif- 
ferences. It  is  not  true  that  lawyers  see  a  thing 
as  they  are  paid  to  see  it.  It  is  the  mission  of 
the  true  lawyer  to  settle  controversies,  not  to 
foster  them.  But  when  controversies  have  arisen 
they  should  be  determined  according  to  the  eter- 
nal principles  of  truth  and  justice,  and  in  ascer- 
taining the  correct  application  of  those  principles 
there  should  be  the  greatest  latitude  of  free  dis- 
cussion and  the  total  banishment  of  all  personal 
animosity. 

A  proper  respect  for  the  law  is  best  engendered 
among  the  people  whenever  they  see  all  the 
officers  of  the  courts  conducting  themselves  with 
decorum  and  integrity. 

Instead  of  'regarding  the  practice  of  law  as  a 
system  of  cunning  tricks  and  devices,  the  true 
advocate  beholds  in  it  the  majesty  and  benevo- 
lence of  peace  and  order ;  protection  against  ruf- 
fianly violence ;  the  shelter  of  the  weak  against 
the  strong ;  the  checking  of  craftiness  and  fraud 


313 


upon  the  unwary  or  the  helpless  ;  the  assertion 
of  that  pure  type  of  liberty  which  deprives  no 
man  of  his  property  or  his  pleasure  so  long  as  he 
inflicts  no  damage  upon  society  or  the  individuals 
who  compose  society;  and  the  adjustment  and 
distribution  of  property  and  privilege  so  that  no 
man  shall  suffer  in  his  feelings,  or  lose  that 
which  is  his  own  without  obtaining  prompt  and 
adequate  redress. 

What  moral  and  physical  courage  is  required 
to  make  a  man,  who  is  trained  to  please  if  he  can, 
stand  up  for  the  rights  of  a  client,  or  the  cause 
he  deems  proper,  while  the  public  sentiment  is  all 
against  him  !  It  is  some  strength  to  the  champion 
of  justice  at  such  an  hour  to  feel  that  he  has  the 
respect,  the  confidence  and  the  sympathy  of  his 
manly  professional  brethren. 

Bar  associations  are  designed  to  cultivate  fra- 
ternal feelings  among  honorable  members,  the 
men  who  are  imbued  with  the  philosophy  and 
alive  to  the  dignity  of  the  legal  profession,  and  to 
elevate  the  standard  of  ethics. 

Lawyers  are  of  ten  hated  unjustly  for  espousing 
a  cause  which  has  but  few  friends,  but  it  becomes 


314 


their  duty  to  see  that  the  law  is  administered 
without  fear,  favor  or  affection,  regardless  of 
popular  clamor,  and  independent  of  personal  feel- 
ings. 

The  bar  association  is  a  strength  and  refuge  to 
the  honorable  man  and  it  is  a  dread  to  the  evil- 
doer. 

No  saint  ever  wore  a  robe  that  some  demon 
would  not  steal  to  serve  the  devil  in,  and  of  course 
a  bad  man  will  now  and  then  gain  admittance  to 
the  bar.  But  take  them  numerically  as  compared 
with  other  callings  and  professions  and  the  average 
standard  of  honor  and  integrity  is  as  high,  if  not 
higher,  in  the  legal  profession  than  in  any  other. 
I  will  make  no  exception.  And  the  jokes  and 
gibes  at  lawyers'  expense,  and  the  caricatures 
made  of  them  by  witless  dramatists  to  please  ig- 
norant and  vicious  auditories,  while  generally 
treated  as  beneath  all  notice  by  lawyers,  are  nev- 
ertheless aimed  at  a  very  limited  portion  of  the 
profession  whose  members  it  is  the  mission  of  the 
bar  association  to  weed  out. 

Those  of  you  who  have  belonged  to  such  organ- 
izations in  older  states  have  witnessed  their  ben- 


eficial  influence,  not  only  upon  the  bar,  but  upon 
the  whole  entire  community. 

The  bar  association  is  an  adjunct  of  advanced 
civilization,  educating  the  conscience  of  the  pro- 
fession and  drawing  a  line  between  the  regulars 
and  the  guerrillas  in  the  great  army  of  law  and 
order. 

In  a  country  where  government  itself  simply 
means  the  supremacy  of  law,  rather  than  the  will 
or  the  opinion  of  any  individual,  whatever  has  a 
tendency  to  elevate,  enlighten  and  advance  the 
character  of  the  legal  profession,  exalts  the 
standard  of  civilization  and  benefits  the  entire 
community. 

In  a  progressive  age,  and  a  prosperous  and  pro- 
gressive country  erroneous  judgment  can  no 
longer  mark  injustice  with  the  exploded  sanction 
of  authority.  It  is  the  axiom  of  modern  learning 
that  law  is  discovered,  not  made,  and  decisions 
have  weight,  not  according  to  their  antiquity,  but 
in  proportion  as  they  conform  to  correct  reason- 
ing and  sound  sense. 

Jurisprudence  constitutes  so  important  a  part 
in  human  affairs  that  whatever  men  find  worth 


316 


struggling  for,  must  rank  in  secondary  and 
subordinate  position  to  the  paramount  consider- 
ation of  establishing  corrrecfc  principles  for  the 
assertion  and  maintenance  of  human  rights,  and 
the  redress  and  punishment  for  human  wrongs. 
For  the  security  of  life,  property  and  peace  of 
mind  the  people  must  often  look  to  their  lawyers. 

Confidence  must  be  reposed;  property  must 
be  entrusted  ;  responsibilities  must  be  lodged  in 
the  lawyer.  If  he  proves  unfaithful  or  treacher- 
ous, scarcely  any  punishment  is  considered  too 
severe  for  him  ;  but  there  is  one  punishment  he  is 
always  sure  to  get,  and  that,  too,  not  easy  to  be 
borne,  and  that  is  the  united  scorn  and  contempt 
of  all  the  honorable  members  of  the  profession. 
And  there  is  no  possible  solace  in  any  transient 
advantage  that  can  compensate  an  apostate 
practitioner  for  bringing  that  sort  of  disgrace 
upon  himself  which  will  not  fade  or  wash  out. 

Whatever  lends  dignity  to  the  court  and  its 
officers  carries  dread  to  the  breast  of  the  wrong- 
doer. Whatever  lessens  the  estimate  in  which  law- 
yers are  held  impedes  the  administration  of  jus- 
tice ;  and  the  estimate  lawyers  entertain  for  each 


31' 


other  is  apt  to  extend  to  the  community  outside. 
They  are  presumed,  like  brothers,  to  know  each 
other,  and  I  venture  to  assert  that  no  man  can 
rise  to  distinction  and  success  at  the  American 
bar,  in  any  of  the  states,  unless  he  passes  through 
that  straight  and  narrow  gateway — the  recognition 
and  indorsement  of  his  brother  lawyers.  It  may 
come  slowly,  reluctantly ;  but  it  must  and  will 
come,  if  by  his  conduct,  bearing,  learning  and  in- 
dustry the  practitioner  secures  the  good  will  and 
the  applause  of  his  professional  brethren. 

Hence  the  importance  of  cultivating  those 
amenities,  courtesies  and  decencies  of  debate 
which,  amid  the  conflicts  of  interests  and  the  col- 
lision of  intellects,  do  not  detract  from  the  force 
of  an  argument  or  the  scope  of  true  reason,  and 
yet  impart  sweetness  and  serenity  to  the  labors 
and  disappointments,  the  heart-aches  and  the 
anxieties  of  a  lawyer's  life. 

The  rivalries  and  contentions  of  lawyers  often 
give  them  the  appearance  of  gladiators  pitted 
against  each  other  for  the  mere  purpose  of  afford- 
ing savage  satisfaction  to  their  spectators  by  rea- 
son of  the  punishment  and  pain  they  inflict  upon 


318 


each  other.  To  the  zealous  advocate,  alive  to  his 
client's  interest  and  cause,  this  is  a  tempting  trap. 
But  it  is  a  fatal  trap  for  the  peace  and  prosperity 
of  the  profession.  There  should  be  some  influ- 
ence hanging,  ever  overhanging  us,  to  remind  us 
that  our  opponent  in  the  argument  is  personally 
a  brother  and  a  friend,  whose  sympathies  and 
sufferings,  labors  and  fellowship  should  not  be 
sacrificed  on  the  foul  altar  of  false  advantage. 

The  bar  association  tends  to  refine  the  social 
pleasures  and  to  soothe  the  angry  impulses,  and 
affords  a  sort  of  locus  penitentice  for  good  fel- 
lows to  make  friends  again  after  they  have  been 
temporarily  angry  with  and  enstranged  from  each 
other.  Its  influence  is  at  once  elevating  and  com- 
forting, and  those  who  stand  aloof  from  such 
organizations  are  not  full  and  well-rounded  men, 
but  are  somewhere  deficient. 

Although  Missouri  has  been  a  state  for  about 
fifty -two  years,  our  bar  association  is  only  going 
on  two  years  old.  The  St.  Louis  bar  association 
was  organized  several  years  before  that  of  the 
state,  and  was  found  to  work  so  well  that  the 
lawyers  throughout  the  state  were  encouraged  to 


319 


establish  a  co-operative  and  more  general  organ- 
ization. The  effect  and  influence  of  the  St.  Louis 
bar  association  upon  the  legislature  of  the  state 
have  been  marked  and  gratifying. 

The  statutes  relating  to  civil  practice  and  to  a 
large  number  of  important  topics  have  been  im- 
proved and  corrected  by  bills  drawn  by  our  com- 
mittee, discussed,  matured  and  recommended  by 
the  association,  and  whenever  the  legislature  for 
want  of  tim.e  or  for  want  of  intelligence  neglected 
to  heed  the  suggestions  of  the  association,  we  al- 
ways had  the  satisfaction  to  believe  the  legisla- 
ture was  wrong. 

The  promoting  of  social  relations  and  good 
feeling  among  the  members  has  also  marked  the 
history  of  our  association,  and  I  cordially  con- 
gratulate the  members  of  the  profession  in  your 
magnificent  young  state,  where  everything  seems 
new  except  your  civilization,  upon  securing  for 
yourself  the  advantages  of  such  an  association. 

You  have  done  that  within  six  years  which  it 
took  other  states  fifty  to  accomplish.  Colorado 
owes  much  of  its  rapid  development  to  the  sage 
counsel,  the  brilliant  abilities  and  the  progressive 


320 


spirit  of  her  bar.  Colossal  fortunes  have  grown 
up  under  their  advice.  Many  of  them  were  dis- 
tinguished in  other  states  before  they  drifted  here 
for  health,  or  business,  and  among  the  number, 
if  you  will  excuse  a  personal  allusion  which  is  not 
invidious,  there  is  one  nomo  probus  et  integer — 
who,  standing  at  the  head  of  a  noted  bar  in  Mis- 
souri, with  the  generosity  of  a  prince  and  the 
wisdom  of  a  sage,  directed  the  law  studies  and 
gave  a  helping  hand  to  many  a  young  man  strug- 
gling for  admission  to  the  bar,  and,  among  them, 
to  one  who  comes  to-day  from  a  distant  home, 
that  he  may  return  to  him  and  thank  him. 


THE  STUDY  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  STUDY 
OF  ART. 

Two  Addresses  Delivered  at  the  Annual  Commencement  of  the 

Missouri  School  of  Mines  and  Metallurgy,  at  Rolla,  Mo.,  June 

12th,  1879,  and  June  9th,  1881,  respectively. 

THE   STUDY   OF  NATURE. 

All  thought  is  precious  ;  all  study  is  valuable  ; 
all  learning  is  useful ;  all  knowledge  leads  to 
further  knowledge ;  all  science  exalts  and  enno- 
bles the  understanding;  but  the  grand  total  of 


all  thought,  study,  learning,  knowledge  and  sci- 
ence is  reached  when  the  human  mind  becomes 
enabled  to  cast  one  rational,  intelligent  glance 
upon  the  Universe  as  a  whole. 

There  shine  the  flaming  suns  ;  there  roll  the 
countless  planets ;  there  space  invites  to  space 
still  more  profound ;  there  comets  in  eccentric 
orbits  range  ;  there  light,  heat,  force  and  motion 
play  with  the  mighty  spheres  as  toys ;  and 
through  and  throughout  all  this  magnificent 
array  of  wonders  we  discern  that  law  prevails— 
order,  harmony,  system,  plan,  design.  Educated 
reason  recognizes  these  evidences  of  contrivance, 
and  knows  that  somewhere  there  is  a  Lawgiver, 
a  Contriver,  a  Ruler,  as  supreme  and  infinite 
as  the  displays  of  His  works  are  sublime  and 
beautiful. 

Speculations  upon  the  origin  of  matter,  the 
duration  of  it,  the  destiny  and  final  disposition 
awaiting  it,  are  interesting,  and  furnish  the  occa- 
sion for  noting  and  preserving  observations  of 
particular  facts. 

But  the  power  to  reason  from  special  facts  to 
general  laws  must  often  stop  there.  The  re- 


322 


application  of  those  general  laws  to  other  facts 
not  submitted  to  our  observations  must  involve 
us  at  once  in  conjecture  and  uncertainty — mere 
guess  work  at  best.  But  there  are  things  we  can 
know  which  concern  us  much  more  vitally,  and 
these  it  is  given  us  to  know  with  certainty,  and 
to  establish  by  actual  demonstration  beyond  con- 
tradiction or  question. 

Humboldt  has  remarked :  "  The  aspect  of  ex- 
ternal nature,  as  it  presents  itself  in  its  gener- 
ality to  thoughtful  contemplation,  is  that  of 
unity  in  diversity,  and  of  connection,  resem- 
blance and  order,  among  created  things  most 
dissimilar  in  their  form :  one  fair,  harmonious 
whole. 

"  To  seize  this  unity  and  this  harmony  amid 
such  an  immense  assemblage  of  objects  and 
forces  ;  to  embrace  alike  the  discoveries  of  the 
earliest  ages  and  those  of  our  own  time,  and  to 
analyze  the  details  of  phenomena  without  sink- 
ing under  their  mass,  are  efforts  of  human  reason 
in  the  path  wherein  it  is  given  to  man  to  press 
towards  the  full  comprehension  of  nature,  to 
unveil  a  portion  of  her  secrets,  and  by  the  force 


323 


of  thought  to  subject  to  his  intellectual  dominion 
the  rough  materials  which  he  collects  by  ob- 
servation." 

Nearly  all  of  the  errors  which  have  at  different 
eras  become  prevalent  among  mankind  have 
been  occasioned  by  a  partial  or  imperfect  obser- 
vation of  facts. 

It  amazes  us  now  that  whole  armies  of  brave 
men  should  have  fallen  into  consternation  be- 
cause of  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  or  the  appearance 
of  a  comet,  or  the  flash  of  a  meteor. 

Ignorance  of  the  laws  of  nature  has  caused 
men  to  impute  every  operation  of  natural  force 
to  the  malign  influence  of  some  pagan  deity,  and 
it  was  only  in  comparatively  modern  times  that 
prolonged  attention  to  facts,  about  which  there 
could  arise  no  dispute,  led  to  the  disclosure  and 
demonstration  of  those  mighty  truths  which 
exist  under  the  surface  of  things,  and  which 
escape  superficial  observation. 

The  slowness  of  men  in  arriving  at  these  great 
truths  has  also  been  retarded  by  superstition, 
prejudice,  bigotry  and  persecution — fetters  to 
progress,  which,  happily  for  our  race,  are  grad- 


ually  relaxing  their  hold  upon  the  republic  of 
thinkers. 

The  influence  of  education  for  good  or  evil  is 
shown  in  nothing  stronger  than  in  this. 

It  was  oftentimes  more  difficult  to  make  the 
truth  believed  than  to  find  it.  Men  would  insist 
upon  thinking  as  they  had  been  taught  to  think. 

It  is  recorded  that  when  Alexander  captured 
Babylon,  Aristotle,  who  was  his  tutor,  received 
from  Calisthenes,  a  Chaldean  astronomer,  a  cata- 
logue of  eclipses  observed  at  the  temple  of  Belus 

during  a  previous  period   of  1903  years.      The 

p 

ancient  Egyptians  were  also  versed  in  astro- 
nomical study  at  a  remote  antiquity.  The  valu- 
able writings  and  observations  of  Hipparchus, 
who  lived  about  two  centuries  before  Christ, 
nearly  all  perished  with  the  destruction  of  the 
Alexandrian  library  ;  but  Ptolemy,  having  res- 
cued one  book,  made  it  the  foundation  of  studies 
during  the  reigns  of  the  Emperors  Adrian  and 
Antoninus,  which  resulted  in  the  enunciation  by 
him  of  the  system  known  as  the  Ptolemaic. 

According  to  it,  the  earth  was  spherical,  but 
supposed  to  be  the  immovable  centre  of  the 


326 


Universe.  The  sun,  moon,  planets  and  fixed  stars 
were  supposed  to  revolve  around  it,  in  perfect 
circles,  and  with  uniform  velocities,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  appearance  of  the  Universe  at  first 
glance  to  the  physical  eye.  This  was  substan- 
tially the  opinion  of  that  master  mind  of  all  the 
Greeks,  Aristotle,  who  was  the  greatest  original 
thinker  the  world  has  ever  produced. 

This  doctrine  remained  unshaken  until  less 
than  four  hundred  years  ago.  Mcolaus  Coper- 
nicus was  born  in  1473.  He  received  a  classical 
and  scientific  education  at  the  University  of 
Cracow,  and  finished  his  studies  in  Italy.  He 
taught  mathematics  at  Rome,  and  returned  to 
Prussia  to  become  Canon  of  Frauenburg.  He 
was  a  teacher,  a  physician  and  a  priest.  He  sur- 
passed the  mathematicians  of  his  time  in  the 
diligence  of  his  studies,  before  he  turned  his 
principal  attention  to  astronomy.  At  the  close 
of  his  seventy  years  of  laborious  life  his  works 
were  published,  and  the  notions  of  Aristotle  and 
Hipparchus  and  Ptolemy  were  exploded. 

The  Copernican  system,  as  it  is  called,  may  be 
briefly  described  as  follows : 


That  the  sun  and  stars  are  stationary;  the 
moon  only  revolves  about  the  earth ;  the  earth  is 
a  planet  whose  orbit  is  between  Yenus  and 
Mars;  the  planets  revolve  about  the  sun,  and 
the  apparent  revolution  of  the  heavens  is  caused 
by  the  rotation  of  the  earth  on  its  axis. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that  the  first  copy  of 
his  works  was  placed  in  his  hands  the  very  day 
of  his  death. 

But  astronomer  like,  he  had  gazed  on  nature 
with  a  lover's  eye — pondered  over  the  records  of 
previous  observers — left  his  own  record  for  those 
who  were  to  come  after  him,  and  at  his  allotted 
threescore  years  and  ten  succumbed  to  fate,  be- 
queathing to  his  followers  the  glorious  fruits  of 
his  life-long  studies.  He  died  in  1543. 

About  the  year  1608,  two  rival  spectacle 
makers  of  Middleburg,  Hans  Lippersheim  and 
Jacob  Adrianz,  claimed  each  the  invention  of  the 
instrument  called  the  telescope. 

A  year  later,  Galileo  constructed  an  improve- 
ment upon  these  pioneer  implements,  and  saw 
with  it  the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  the  rings  of 
Saturn  and  the  phases  of  Venus. 


Other  inventors  rapidly  offered  improvements 
upon  the  telescope  ;  but  it  was  found  almost  im- 
possible to  gain  magnifying  power,  in  viewing 
distant  objects,  without  fringing  them  with 
strong  prismatic  colors  produced  by  the  refrac- 
tion of  the  rays  of  light  in  the  lenses  of  the  in- 
strument. 

At  length  the  problem  was  solved  by  the  de- 
vice known  as  the  reflecting  telescope. 

James  Gregory,  of  Aberdeen,  invented  the  first 
reflecting  telescope  about  the  year  1666.  He  died 
before  completing  it.  Sir  Isaac  Newton  took  up 
the  idea,  and  completed  the  first  reflecting  tele- 
scope which  was  ever  used  in  studying  the 
heavens.  It  magnified  forty  times,  and  brought 
into  view  the  satellites  of  Jupiter  and  the  phases 
of  Venus.  It  was  about  six  inches  in  length, 
and  would  be  considered  a  very  poor  instrument 
now.  But  it  led  the  way  to  investigations  and 
discoveries,  whereby  he  demonstrated  his  theory 
of  universal  gravitation,  explained  the  tides, 
gave  new  ideas  as  to  the  shape  of  the  earth,  and 
in  the  following  century  mathematicians  com- 
pleted the  lunar  theory  which  Newton  began. 


In  1718,  Hadley  constructed  a  telescope  with 
230  magnifying  power.  In  1785,  Sir  Sohn  Her- 
schel  completed  his  celebrated  reflector.  In  1824, 
Joseph  Fraunhofer  finished  the  famous  telescope 
for  the  observatory  at  Dorpat.  And  it  was  not 
until  1860  that  Steinheil  found  and  overcame 
the  practical  difficulty  in  the  construction  of 
telescopes. 

As  far  back  as  1729,  however,  an  Englishman 
named  Hall,  guided  by  a  study  of  the  mechanism 
of  the  eye,  was  led  to  a  plan  of  combining  lenses 
so  as  to  produce  an  image  free  from  colors.  The 
secret  of  their  construction  died  with  him.  In 
1741,  Euler  regained  the  lost  art  by  referring  to 
the  construction  of  the  human  eye ;  and  it  is  a 
remarkable  fact  that  almost  every  successful 
mechanical  contrivance  is  modeled  after  some 
natural  mechanism :  the  shape  of  the  duck  for 
boats  ;  the  shape  of  the  bird's  wing  for  kites ; 
the  shape  of  the  ear  for  instruments  of  sound ; 
and  so  on. 

With  the  improvements  in  telescopes  came  a 
new  insight  into  the  works  of  nature.  u  The 
earth  moves  !  "  exclaimed  Galileo.  Superstition 


turned  upon  him  like  a  savage  beast.  "  Take  it 
back,"  said  the  powers  that  were.  "  Certainly," 
said  he ;  but  to  the  initiated  he  whispered,  u  Still 
she  moves !  " 

Sir  Isaac  Newton  half  a  century  later,  and 
Leibnitz  about  the  same  time,  taught  men  how 
to  prove  beyond  all  cavil,  not  only  that  it  moves, 
but  that  it  whirls  through  free  space  with  incon- 
ceivable velocity — calculable  in  figures,  but  be- 
yond the  wildest  imagination. 

It  was  now  that  men  could  study  nature.  It 
was  now  they  had  something  to  study  it  with. 
Men  of  science — and  that  too,  men  of  vast  mathe- 
matical acquirements,  supplemented  by  the  high- 
est mechanical  skill — proved  to  be  the  great 
students  of  nature. 

Sir  Isaac  Newton,  the  discoverer  of  the  bino- 
mial theorem,  was  first  to  complete  a  telescope 
that  read  the  stars  aright. 

Herschel,  the  organist  of  Bath,  became  musician 
of  the  spheres.  Such  men  were  scholars  first ; 
then  mechanics ;  then  interpreters  of  nature  to 
weaker  souls. 

The  milky- way  stood  revealed  to  all  mankind 


as  a  congregation  of  stars,  invisible  to  tlie  naked 
eye,  but  palpable  forever  afterwards  to  the  hum- 
blest lover  of  nature. 

It  seems  strange  that  men  were  so  long  occupied 
in  ascertaining  facts  which  are  now  so  familiar  to 
our  school-children. 

It  was  only  in  the  year  1610,  that  Galileo  dis- 
covered the  satellites  of  Jupiter.  About  seventy 
years  earlier,  Copernicus  had  asserted  that  Venus 
revolved  around  our  sun.  But  the  followers  of 
Aristotle  said  that  could  not  be  true  ;  for  if  such 
were  the  case,  there  would  be  phases  like  those 
of  the  moon.  He  replied  that  he  had  no  doubt  it 
would  some  day  be  found  so.  The  telescope, 
which  he  had  been  too  early  to  enjoy,  verified  his 
prediction.  The  phases  of  Yenus  settled  forever 
the  ancient  doctrine  that  the  earth  was  the  centre 
of  the  universe.  The  satellites  of  Jupiter  and  of 
other  planets  subverted  the  doctrine  that  the 
earth  was  the  only  planet  having  a  moon  revolv- 
ing about  it. 

Bacon,  in  the  second  aphorism  of  his  Novum 
Organum,  has  said :  u  Neither  the  naked  hand, 
nor  the  understanding  left  to  itself,  can  effect 


331 


much.  It  is  by  instruments  and  helps  that  the 
work  is  done,  which  are  as  much  wanted  for  the 
understanding  as  for  the  hand." 

Aided  by  the  telescope,  science  found  the  sun 
to  be  the  focus  of  a  planetary  system  :  that  Mer- 
cury was  nearest  to  it ;  then  Yenus ;  then  the 
Earth  ;  then  Mars  ;  then  Jupiter  ;  then  Saturn  ; 
then  Uranus;  then  Neptune;  then  others — and 
that  these  planets  moved  in  elliptic  orbits  with 
velocity  varying  according  to  certain  laws,  and 
not  in  circles,  or  with  uniform  velocity  as  Ptolemy 
had  supposed. 

By  the  aid  of  the  telescope  it  was  demonstrated 
that  the  earth  was  not  a  sphere,  but  a  spheroid 
flattened  at  the  poles.  That  our  sun  is  only  one 
of  a  hundred  millions  of  suns  that  are  visible, 
without  counting  those  too  remote  to  be  seen. 
That  our  solar  system  is  only  one  of  a  l^undred 
millions  of  solar  systems,  so  distant  from  us  that 
the  nearest  of  these  suns,  or  fixed  stars,  as  they 
are  called,  requires  ages  for  its  light  to  reach  us, 
although  light  travels  at  the  rate  of  about  193,000 
miles  per  second.  That  all  these  numberless  suns, 
with  their  attendant  worlds,  are  sweeping  through 


332 


space  with  such  inconceivable  velocity  as  to  "baffle 
and  bewilder  the  imagination;  and  that  their 
movements  are  regulated  with  such  exact  pre- 
cision, that  the  close  student  of  nature  can  foretell 
with  unerring  certainty,  for  centuries  beforehand, 
to  the  fraction  of  a  second,  the  moment  of  time 
at  which  a  shadow  will  fall,  or  a  heavenly  body 
appear,  at  a  given  point  in  its  wonderful  path  of 
fire. 

The  ancients  supposed  the  milky-way  to  be  an 
old  disused  path  of  the  sun.  When  Herschel 
turned  his  more  than  magical  instrument  upon 
the  silvery  belt,  he  counted  between  five  and  six 
hundred  stars  without  moving  his  telescope. 

"  In  a  space  of  the  zone,  not  more  than  ten  de- 
grees long  by  two  and  a  half  degrees  wide,  he 
computed  no  fewer  than  258,000." 

Into  the  same  magnificent  region  Schroeter,  of 
Lilienthal,  directed  his  telescope,  and  exclaimed 
involuntarily : 

"  What  Omnipotence  !  " 

The  difficulty  of  computing  the  distance  to  even 
the  nearest  of  the  fixed  stars,  as  they  are  called, 
was  very  great.  The  longest  diameter  of  the 


earth's  orbit  afforded  no  parallax.  No  angle  of 
the  value  of  a  second  could  be  found  with  cer- 
tainty in  the  case  of  any  star.  It  was  not  until 
within  the  lifetime  of  some  who  hear  me  now 
that  Professor  Bessel,  of  Koenigsberg,  by  the  aid 
of  an  extraordinary  refracting  telescope  with  a 
micrometer  capable  of  dividing  an  inch  into  80,- 
000  equal  parts,  and  two  parallel  spider  webs 
adjusted  across  the  centre  of  the  field  of  view,  at 
last  devised  a  mechanism  of  such  mathematical 
minuteness  that  an  annual  parallax  of  the  star 
61  Cygni  was  detected  of  a  little  more  than  one- 
third  of  a  second  of  space.  With  the  side  and 
two  angles  of  this  long  little  triangle,  the  calcula- 
tion could  at  last  be  relied  upon  to  find  the  re- 
maining angle  and  the  other  two  sides,  and  the 
distance  of  the  star  ascertained  at  six  hundred 
thousand  radii  of  the  earth's  orbit,  or,  in  round 
numbers,  about  sixty  billions  of  miles. 

"Wearied  out  with  trying  to  grasp  such  dis- 
tances, and  such  numbers  of  objects,  the  mind 
longs  for  home.  We  return  to  the  earth  and  its 
phenomena  ;  its  atmosphere  ;  storms  ;  tides  ;  vol- 
canoes ;  rocks  ;  rivers  ;  mountain  and  valleys  ;  its 


334 


liquid  mass  of  internal  fire  ;  its  cool,  thin,  hard 
crust;  its  changing  seasons,  snows  and  rains; 
clouds  and  shadows  ;  its  minerals  and  vegetables, 
and  inhabitants. 

Here  the  study  of  nature  is  no  less  exciting, 
even  when  we  come  down  to  every-day  matters — 
to  every  leaf,  bird,  fish,  and  insect. 

Again  we  are  astonished  that  it  should  have 
taken  the  wisest  philosophers  of  our  race  so  long 
a  time  to  find  out  things  that  every  school-boy 
now  knows,  and  can  explain  so  well. 

Just  think  what  numberless  multitudes  of  our 
ancestors  died  under  the  consummate  skill  of 
eminent  surgeons  and  physicians,  before  Harvey 
—so  late  as  A.  D.  1619 — discovered  the  circu 
lation  of  the  blood.  We  of  to-day  can  scarcely 
understand  how  such  a  thing  should  so  long  have 
remained  unknown. 

It  was  only  about  the  year  A.  D.  1295,  that 
Marco  Polo  carried  the  mariner's  compass  into 
Italy.  He  got  it  from  the  Chinese.  Where  they 
got  it,  nobody  knows,  but  it  took  civilized  nations 
two  hundred  years  more  to  get  across  the  ocean 
with  it — in  search  of  gold. 


335 


How  Jason  and  his  Argosy  got  along  it  is  hard 
to  say.  It  may  be  they  had  some  way  to  reckon 
their  bearings,  which  became  lost — just  as  men 
used  to  lift  ponderous  stones,  make  malleable 
glass,  and  manufacture  steel  swords  of  metal 
finer  than  those  made  now. 

The  sailor  of  to-day  only  needs  his  quadrant, 
his  compass  and  a  little  patch  of  sky,  to  know 
just  where  he  is. 

What  the  telescope  did  for  the  students  of 
celestial  phenomena,  the  microscope  did  for  those 
who  studied  the  minute  forms  of  terrestrial  ob- 
jects, which  were  too  small  to  be  observed  by  the 
naked  eye.  Innumerable  armies  of  insects  were 
found  marching  to  battle  against  each  other  upon 
the  rind  of  a  single  orange.  A  drop  of  water  be- 
came a  sea  full  of  living  creatures,  with  room  to 
spare.  Chemical  and  botanical  science  assumed 
new  energy.  The  mysteries  and  mistakes  of  im- 
perfect observation  gradually  yielded  to  the  new 
revelations,  and  the  infinite  grandeur  of  the 
celestial  bodies,  rolling  on  in  solemn  wonder 
through  unfathomable  space,  kept  voiceless  guard 
over  the  perfections  of  detail  observable  in  the 
scarcely  visible  infinitesimals. 


336 


The  same  August  Power  that  set  inexorable 
fetters  upon  the  ponderous  motors  of  the  upper 
realms,  was  revealed  in  the  operation  of  those 
uniform  laws  of  comparative  anatomy,  physical 
geography,  botany,  chemistry,  geology,  metal- 
lurgy, electricity,  and  all  the  elements  of  modern 
natural  philosophy — branches  of  material  science 
which  are  still  in  their  infancy,  and  awaiting  and 
inviting  the  investigations  of  "  the  coming  man." 

As  yet  the  wonders  that  have  been  accom- 
plished are  as  nothing  to  those  which  are  to  come. 
As  science  advances,  mystery  retreats.  The  world 
moves.  Humanity  grows  wiser  and  better  as  it 
becomes  better  informed,  and  barbarism  and  ig- 
norance can  never  again  dominate  this  earth. 

The  study  of  nature  develops  the  love  of  law 
and  order  and  utility,  and  these  things  refine  and 
dignify  the  human  race,  exalt  and  ennoble  the 
human  understanding.  Sooner  or  later  the  heathen 
must  go  to  school.  His  necessities  will  drive  him 
there,  if  not  his  inclinations ;  and  once  having 
rode  on  a  railroad,  or  talked  through  a  telephone, 
he  will  find  himself  unable  to  dispense  with  them. 

But  aside  from  mere  utility,  the  study  of  terres- 


337 


trial  nature  affords  an  instinctive  pleasure  to  the 
heart.  The  poets  have  been  called  the  children 
of  nature,  "because  they  have  caught  inspiration 
from  sighing  winds,  lovely  landscapes,  magnifi- 
cent mountains,  delicate  flowers,  and  spreading 
trees.  Not  so  much  as  philosophers,  but  as  art- 
ists they  have  painted  the  plumage  of  birds,  the 
waving  of  grain,  the  grandeur  of  ocean,  and  the 
insignificance  of  man. 
Byron  sings  : 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 

There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 

There  is  society  where  none  intrudes, 

By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar : 

I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  Nature  more, 

From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 

From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 

To  mingle  with  the  Universe,  and  feel 

What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean — roll, 

Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain ; 

Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin — his  control 

Stops  with  the  shore — upon  the  watery  plain 

The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 

A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own 

When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 

He  sinks  into  thy  depths,  with  bubbling  groan. 

Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 


The  aspects  of  nature  are  indeed  a  solace  to  the 
eye  and  a  comfort  to  the  heart. 

Weary  toilers  in  the  field  look  about  them  un- 
conscious of  fatigue,  as  they  revel  in  the  beauty 
of  the  scene.  The  house-imprisoned  toilers  of 
the  town,  long  for  fresh  air,  and  a  ramble  over 
rock,  river  and  glen.  The  student  of  science 
comes  back  to  his  work  with  fresh  hope  and  vigor, 
after  looking  upon  the  face  of  nature.  The  stu- 
dent of  art  gains  all  his  inspiration  there,  and  as 
he  is  true  to  nature,  he  becomes  gifted  in  his  pro- 
fession. Creeds,  races,  nationalities  and  pursuits 
may  make  men  differ  ;  but  they  must  all  be  born, 
and  live  and  die  in  nature's  lap  alike. 

"  One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin." 

Who  then  shall  slight  this  study  ? 

Does  it  not  exalt  the  mind,  comfort  the  body, 
and  improve  the  moral  and  intellectual  condition 
of  all  ?  Who  is  so  wise  that  he  does  not  shudder 
at  his  own  ignorance,  when  he  begins  to  realize 
the  countless  lessons  of  nature  he  has  yet  to  learn ! 

Life  is  so  short ;  time  is  so  given  to  actual  busi- 
ness ;  there  are  so  many  impediments  to  claim  at- 
tention, that  most  men  will  not  even  take  time  to 


339 


reflect  upon  the  nature  of  tilings,  or  they  are  too 
sluggish  to  make  themselves  comfortable  the  lit- 
tle time  they  do  have  on  earth.  Entertaining  an 
undue  and  exaggerated  opinion  of  himself,  and 
his  race,  and  his  little  third-rate  planet,  man 
struts  on  into  his  grave,  the  most  inflated,  arro- 
gant, pretentious,  contradictory  insect  that  crea- 
tion has  fitted  for  microscopic  study. 

Dependent  upon  a  thousand  accidents  and  es- 
capes, for  even  one  hour  of  existence,  he  proudly 
assumes  the  sceptre  of  immortality.  Slave  as  he 
is  to  appetite,  sleep,  thirst,  delusion,  disease  and 
death — bondman  to  each  one  of  a  multitude  of 
fierce  and  debasing  passions,  he  calls  himself  a 
sovereign,  and  assumes  to  be  the  arbiter  of  his  own 
destiny,  and  able  to  carve  out  his  own  career. 

Conscious  in  his  inmost  soul  of  his  infirmities, 
and  helplessness,  he  exults  over  the  weakness  of 
his  fellow  man ;  and,  forgetting  his  own  frailty, 
he  condemns  others  for  the  same  faults  which  he 
excuses  in  himself.  He  cannot  exist  without 
food,  air,  water,  and  rest.  Too  cold — he  dies ;  too 
hot — he  perishes ;  too  old — he  forgets  everything. 
How  diverting  it  is,  then,  to  see  such  a  dwarf  atom 


340 


in  the  scale  of  actualities  set  up  Ms  judgment 
against  the  wisdom  of  the  Infinite  Creator !  He 
cannot  make  his  own  heart  beat.  He  cannot 
manufacture  a  grain  of  wheat  or  a  living  leaf. 
He  cannot,  by  any  skill  of  his,  breathe  life  into 
matter ! 

Professor  Tyndall,  by  a  serious  of  brilliant  ex- 
periments, has  demonstrated  that  the  vital  princi- 
ple is  not  spontaneous  even  in  the  smallest  and 
humblest  orders  of  organic  matter.  In  the  anal- 
ysis of  atoms,  as  in  the  survey  of  grandeur  in  the 
heavens,  and  sublimity  in  the  ocean,  the  creative 
touch  remains  alone  in  the  finger  of  God. 

Whether  man  may  plume  himself  in  his  egotism 
as  a  creature  of  high  rank  in  the  scale  of  in- 
tellectual beings,  we  know  not ;  for  we  only  know 
the  inhabitants  of  this  planet,  and  the  probabili- 
ties are  strongly  in  favor  of  other  inhabited 
worlds. 

The  plain  truth  is,  we  know  so  little  at  last  that 
it  would  be  far  better  to  turn  our  attention  to  such 
things  as  we  are  permitted  to  know,  and  master 
them,  without  straining  our  puny  intellects  in 
hopeless  aspirations  after  the  unknowable  in 


341 


nature.  There  are  tilings  we  can  know.  There 
are  things  we  can  do.  There  are  fields  we  can 
explore.  There  are  duties  to  humanity  we  can 
perform.  There  are  manifestations  of  the  Divine 
will  we  can  understand.  There  are  truths  we  can 
comprehend.  With  what  humility  great  souls 
have  generally  done  their  work  in  this  world! 
How  simple  were  their  words,  and  how  patient 
their  toil  as  they  taught  almost  without  knowing 
that  they  were  teaching  mankind ! 

Even  so  it  is  given  to  us  to  toil  on,  and  humbly 
do  our  part,  within  our  little  capacity  and  limited 
opportunities. 

That  man  is  a  hero,  who  bravely,  industriously 
and  honestly  does  the  best  he  can.  His  name 
may  not  figure  in  the  bulletins  of  rank  or  fame, 
but  he  has  done  his  duty,  and  the  reward  of  that 
duty  will  be  to  enter  at  last  into  the  rest  of  God. 

Last  summer,  in  straying  along  the  shore  of  a 
bright  little  lake  in  Minnesota,  I  picked  up  some 
beautiful  little  agates.  In  all  St.  Louis,  with  its 
boasted  half  million  of  people,  I  could  only  find 
one  man  who  could  polish  these  stones,  and  that 
man  refused  to  do  so  under  my  personal  inspec- 


342 


tion  and  direction,  on  the  ground  that  his  art  is  a 
secret  mystery  which  he  will  not  permit  any  one 
to  see,  lest  they  should  learn  to  become  lapidaries. 

Yet  you  can  scarcely  walk  two  blocks  from  his 
shop  without  meeting  scores  of  able-bodied 
loungers,  who  will  beg  as  medicants,  or  borrow 
as  knaves,  rather  than  go  to  work  and  master  a 
trade,  whereby  they  could  secure  an  honest  living. 

Our  country  abounds  in  crude  gems,  uncut  dia- 
monds, unpolished  rubies,  opals,  emeralds,  gar- 
nets, topazes,  amethysts,  and  other  precious 
stones — which  are  worthy  to  be  keepsakes  for  the 
living,  heir-looms  for  posterity.  Who  is  working 
them  up  ?  Nobody. 

Young  men  who  imagine  themselves  well  edu- 
cated and  able  to  do  anything,  but  unable  to  find 
anything  to  do,  can  benefit  themselves  and  others 
by  ascertaining  unknown  and  undetected  poisons. 
The  earth,  the  air,  the  water,  the  leaves  and  vines, 
all  the  vegetable  and  mineral  kingdoms,  abound 
in  deleterious  and  oftentimes  fatal  poisons.  What 
is  malaria  ?  What  caused  epizootic  a  few  years 
ago  among  the  horses  in  this  country  ?  Why  did 
the  best  doctors  we  had  perish  last  year,  trying  to 


343 


find  the  nature,  cause  and  cure  for  yellow  fever  ? 
The  wise  man  is  yet  to  come  who  can  answer 
these  questions. 

I  could  go  on  to  give  other  instances  of  the  un- 
developed industries  which  are  all  around  us,  like 
gold  in  the  quartz,  and  zinc  in  the  black-jack,  or 
blende,  glass  in  the  sand,  porcelain  in  the  clay, 
and  salt  in  the  sea ;  but  time  and  proper  limits  to 
an  address,  which  is  not  intended  as  a  lecture, 
forbid. 

This  branch  of  our  State  University  is  instituted 
in  the  right  direction.  In  due  time  it  is  destined 
to  bring  rich  revenues  to  the  commonwealth.  It 
is  from  such  seats  of  learning  the  naturalists, 
the  discoverers,  the  inventors,  the  observers  of 
nature  must  come.  It  is  far  better  to  educate  and 
refine,  enlighten,  inform  and  enrich  the  people  we 
have  already,  and  those  who  in  the  course  of  na- 
ture will  be  born  to  us,  than  to  be  yearning  for 
the  wholesale  immigration  to  our  State  of  people 
who,  when  they  get  here,  will  not  exalt  the  aver- 
age standard  of  our  civilization.  It  is  far  better 
to  elevate  the  moral  and  intellectual  standard  of 
the  people  we  already  have,  and  make  them  con- 


344 


tented  where  they  are ;  make  them  progressive 
and  law-abiding ;  make  them  intelligent  and  use- 
ful citizens,  so  that  at  home  or  abroad,  to  be 
known  as  a  Missourian  will  be  considered  as 
equivalent  to  belonging  to  the  higher  brotherhood 
of  educated  mankind,  worthy  of  the  favored  age 
in  which  we  live,  and  welcome  as  instructors  and 
companions  for  the  good  and  the  honest  people 
throughout  the  world. 

The  achievements  of  science  are  measured  by 
their  practical  application  to  the  necessities  and 
comforts  of  life.  Our  State  can  be  benefited  by 
opening  to  our  rising  generation  the  flood-gates 
of  general  knowledge.  Arm  them  with  the 
weapons  of  progress,  and  they  will  go  on  with 
good  and  great  works.  The  books  are  open  to  all. 
Science  is  no  longer  occult.  If  it  is  mastered  only 
by  the  few,  it  is  not  the  fault  of  our  institutions, 
or  of  our  legislature.  It  is  because  only  the  few 
have  the  fortitude,  the  patience,  the  inclination  to 
devote  themselves  to  noble  study.  The  State  can 
encourage,  has  encouraged,  and  does  encourage 
this  inclination.  But  it  cannot  create  the  incli- 
nation. It  cannot  tutor  the  unwilling  mind.  It 


3-15 


cannot  guide  the  indolent  hand.  It  can  only 
leave  men  free  to  pursue  such  avocations  as  they 
may  prefer  with  the  enjoyment  of  that  high  lib- 
berty  which  all  recognize  as  the  true  liberty,  the 
right  to  do,  to  think,  to  speak,  and  to  write  as 
they  please,  so  they  do  not  trespass  upon  the 
rights  and  the  liberties  of  others. 

ISTo  fairer  field  was  ever  open  to  rightful  ambi- 
tion, to  honest  toil,  or  to  useful  enterprise. 

It  is  only  necessary  to  feel  the  inclination  to  do 
something,  and  to  acquire  the  knowledge  and 
skill  to  do  it  well.  The  time  for  half-way  work 
is  past.  Men  and  women  have  to  know  what  they 
are  about.  They  must  form  habits  of  close  ob- 
servation, and  devote  all  their  general  knowledge 
to  perfecting  the  success  of  whatever  special  en- 
gagement they  may  undertake.  Division  of  labor 
has  come.  The  "  jack  at  all  trades  "  has  no  trade 
at  all. 

The  success  of  mechanical  invention  in  the 
United  States  is  undoubtedly  due,  in  a  great  meas- 
ure, to  the  general  diffusion  of  mathematical 
knowledge  among  the  people. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  advancement  of 


346 


general  learning,  or  of  the  standard  of  literary 
excellence,  it  must  be  conceded  that  our  educa- 
tional institutions  have  maintained  a  high  degree 
of  discipline  and  instruction  in  mathematical 
pursuits.  The  practical  application  of  these 
studies  in  manhood,  the  rich  rewards  that  are 
open  in  every  direction  in  a  growing  country  for 
those  who  can  devise  time-saving  and  labor- 
saving  appliances,  have  stimulated  native  inge- 
nuity to  its  highest  exertion ;  and  as  one  improve- 
ment suggests  another — and  another — the  pro- 
gress of  mechanical  skill  in  America  has  been 
without  a  parallel  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

And  yet  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  this 
department  of  thought  is  in  its  infancy. 

There  is  room  everywhere  for  new  invention. 
The  busy  brain  of  the  operator  and  the  machinist 
discerns  each  day  a  new  necessity  that  becomes 
mother  to  a  new  invention.  The  workman  should 
be  himself  a  mathematician  and  a  chemist.  The 
advantage  is  apparent. 

Cheer  up,  brave  young  man !  ready  to  despair 
over  problems  in  Algebra  and  propositions  in 
Geometry,  which  seem  to  you  destitute  of  utility. 


Cheer  up !  and  rally  once  more  to  your  plodding 
task.  It  is  through  just  such  trials  and  suffer- 
ings that  all  great  minds  have  become  disciplined 
for  the  labors  which  have  benefited  mankind. 
It  is  not  for  yourself  alone.  You  belong  to 
society,  and  you  owe  to  it  the  exertion  of  your 
best  expanded  powers.  A  man  amounts  to  what 
he  can  accomplish  for  others — not  what  he  can 
accomplish  for  himself  alone. 

Cheer  up  !  and  never  despair !  Be  patient, 
but  do  not  wait.  Work !  Study !  Think !  Labor  ! 
Exercise !  Make  an  athlete  of  yourself,  and 
never  fear  that  the  occasion  will  not  arise  when 
the  demands  upon  you  will  be  greater  than  all 
the  strength  and  ingenuity  your  discipline  and 
training  can  give  you.  Quicken  the  faculties  of 
your  mind  by  dealing  with  the  problems  before 
you.  Acquaint  yourself  with  the  problems  that 
other  men  have  solved.  Then  take  up  the  train 
of  thought  where  they  have  had  to  leave  it  off, 
and  add  to  the  coral  reef  your  own  contribution. 
It  may  be  small ;  but  by  and  by,  so  built  upon, 
it  will  rise  above  the  waters  of  ignorance  and 
sluggishness,  like  rugged  cliffs  above  the  rage- 
wasting  breakers  of  the  sea. 


348 


But  mere  utility  in  this  life  is  not  the  highest 
aim  of  human  study.  The  intellect  that  peers 
through  and  beyond  solar  systems  for  "  a  sky 
beyond  the  cloud,  and  a  star  beyond  the  sky," 
bends  with  keen  gaze  and  quenchless  longing  its 
glance  towards  immortality.  Mere  physical  ex- 
istence is  not  enough.  It  is  too  restricted. 
Through  educated  faith  men  look  beyond,  and 
yearn  for  an  existence  for  the  soul  as  infinite  in 
duration  as  the  spaces  beyond  our  physical 
vision  are  measureless  in  extent.  Nature  shows 
us  the  chrysalis.  Its  form  changes.  Its  identity 
remains.  Its  life — goes  on. 

Kevelation  shows  us  the  resurrection.  The 
change  is  not  more  incredible. 

There  is  no  conflict  between  natural  religion 
and  revealed  religion.  Those  who  imagine  they 
detect  such  conflict  are  simply  defectively  in- 
formed. They  do  not  know  all  the  facts.  They 
cannot  comprehend  those  they  do  know.  Nature 
has  to  be  observed  more  attentively.  Revelation 
has  to  be  studied  more  carefully.  When  both 
are  understood,  both  are  harmonious. 

The  profoundest  masters   of  all  the   sciences 


349 


which  have  lifted  the  veil  of  terror  and  of  mys- 
tery from  nature  have  been  humble  believers  in 
the  revealed  will  of  God. 

The  believers  in  revealed  religion  cannot  justly 
be  charged  with  superstition.  The  greatest  rea- 
soners,  thinkers  and  teachers  of  every  science, 
have  arisen  from  their  sublime  meditations  and 
discoveries  with  fresh  testimony  to  the  moral 
beauty  and  dignity  of  those  principles  which 
are  so  plainly  declared  in  the  Scriptures,  that  a 
way-faring  man,  though  a  fool,  need  not  err 
therein. 

"What  Omnipotence !  "  exclaims  the  renowned 
astronomer,  as  he  gazes  into  the  immense  vault 
of  the  heavens,  and  realizes  that  his  mind  is 
overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  its  utter  inadequacy 
to  grasp  the  remotest  conception  of  the  awful 
majesty,  wisdom  and  power  of  the  Almighty 
Creator. 

"What  Omnipotence!"  echoes  the  humble 
believer,  who  arrives  at  the  same  impressions  by 
simply  accepting  the  comprehensive  truths  of 
the  Bible.  The  God  of  Nature,  as  found  by  the 
astronomer,  is  the  same  for  all  practical  purposes 
as  the  God  of  the  Bible. 


350 


A  superficial  astronomer  might  be  disposed  to 
pronounce  the  whole  solar  system  a  failure,  be- 
cause he  could  detect  spots  upon  the  sun.  The 
wise  astronomers  know  they  are  there.  The  sil- 
liest of  mankind  can  become  actual  experts  in 
carping  at  the  religion  of  the  Bible.  It  is  no 
mark  of  wide  thought.  Very  casual  observers 
can  discern  some  spots  upon  the  sun. 

Yet  doth  the  sun  shine  on — flinging  down  life 
and  light  upon  the  earth,  lighting  the  head-long 
pathways  of  his  planets  ;  flooding  a  grand  por- 
tion of  universal  space  with  radiance ;  penetrat- 
ing, vivifying,  comforting,  healing,  gilding  the 
twilight  clouds  with  purple  glory,  and  anon  wak- 
ing the  birds  to  songs  of  melody,  and  the  dewy 
rose  to  sweetness. 

And  even  so,  after  centuries  of  "  spot-search- 
ing "  by  skeptics,  doth  the  "  Sun  of  Righteous- 
ness "  shed  moral  radiance  upon  mankind,  mak- 
ing virtue  lovely  ;  home,  dear  and  peaceful ;  jus- 
tice, venerable ;  gratitude,  noble  ;  divine  love,  at- 
tainable ;  faith,  inspirational ;  charity,  commend- 
able ;  death,  contemptible ;  cowardice,  impossi- 
ble— painting  the  cold  gray  mists  of  parting  life 


351 


with  the  rainbows  of  Hope;  robing  old  age  in 
the  sunset  drapery  of  golden  skies  ;  and  soothing 
even  the  darkness  of  the  shadow  of  Death  with 
an  unfaltering  trust  and  reliance  upon  Him  who 
doeth  all  things  well ! 

What  God  decrees,  child  of  His  love, 
Take  patiently,  though  it  may  prove 
The  storm  that  wrecks  thy  treasure  here  ; 
Be  comforted :   thou  needst  not  fear 

What  pleases  God. 

The  wisest  will,  is  God's  own  will, 
Rest  on  this  anchor  and  be  still ; 
For  peace  around  thy  path  will  flow. 
When  only  wishing  here  below 

What  pleases  God. 

The  truest  heart  is  God's  own  heart, 
Which  bids  thy  grief  and  fear  depart ; 
Protecting,  guiding,  day  and  night, 
The  soul  that  welcomes  here  aright 

What  pleases  God. 

Then  let  the  crowd  around  thee  seize 
The  joys  that  for  a  season  please, 
But  willingly  their  paths  forsake, 
And  for  thy  blessed  portion  take 

What  pleases  God. 


352 


Thy  heritage  is  safe  in  Heaven, 
There  shall  the  crown  of  joy  be  given ; 
There  shalt  thou  hear,  and  see  and  know, 
As  thou  couldst  never  here  below, 

What  pleases  God. 


THE  STUDY   OF  AET. 

In  a  former  address  delivered  before  this 
branch  of  our  State  University,  it  was  my  privi- 
lege to  submit  some  remarks  upon  the  Study  of 
Nature.  Your  indulgence  is  now  asked  to  a  few 
observations  upon  the  Study  of  Art. 

Study  of  any  kind  is  ennobling.  It  is  a  strug- 
gle for  increase  of  intellectual  power.  It  is  a 
step  forward.  It  is  effort  for  superiority — not 
over  others,  but  over  self.  He  who  studies  truly, 
studies  to  ascertain  something  that  is  not  already 
known.  And  yet  he  has  studied  well  who  has 
acquired  a  small  part  of  that  knowledge  which 
"Learning  with  her  ample  page,  rich  with  the 
spoils  of  time,"  is  ready  to  impart.  To  study 
truly  is  to  read,  to  listen,  to  comprehend,  to  know, 
to  do,  and  then  to  teach.  The  main  purpose  of 
a  liberal  education  is  to  learn  how  to  study. 


When  this  art  of  study  is  once  mastered,  and 
the  faculties  are  disciplined  to  its  exercise,  there 
are  no  limits  to  the  activities  or  the  ingenuity  of 
the  human  mind. 

The  study  of  Universal  Nature  lifts  the  mind 
to  infinite  and  sublime  contemplations.  The 
study  of  art  unlocks  the  mysterious  doors  of 
knowledge  which  would  otherwise  remain  im- 
penetrable. Before  exploring  nature,  one  should 
master  many  arts.  Before  mastering  any  art, 
the  oracles  of  nature  must  be  consulted  again 
and  again. 

All  schools  of  philosophy  agree  in  the  theory 
that  the  prehistoric  condition  of  the  human  race 
was  rude  and  barbarous. 

Men  found  subsistence  in  the  chase,  and  in 
spontaneous  fruits,  herbs  and  vegetables.  At  a 
later  period  they  lived  upon  their  flocks  and  the 
crudest  agriculture. 

The  vestiges  of  primitive  existence,  which 
reach  farthest  back  in  time,  afford  evidence  that 
the  art  of  Pottery  was  probably  the  first  which 
engaged  the  ingenuity  of  men.  Weapons  of  the 
chase  and  of  warfare  were  necessarily  of  early 


354 


contrivance.  *  *  A  writer  has  said  that  a 
gentleman  of  that  early  period  would  walk  out 
of  his  cave  in  the  morning,  armed  with  a  club,  to 
kill  a  snake  or  a  frog  for  his  breakfast,  which  he 
would  eat  raw,  until  his  wife  and  children,  who 
amused  themselves  in  his  absence  by  making 
mud  pies,  discovered  that  clay  baked  in  the  sun 
would  hold  water,  and  from  that  all  the  earthen 
cooking  utensils  and  decorated  china  and  porce- 
lain had  their  start. 

It  is  natural  to  infer  that  men  studied  self- 
preservtion  before  they  did  comfort,  and  comfort 
before  they  did  ornament,  and  that  the  things 
which  were  necessary  fgr  existence  were  studied 
before  the  things  which  afforded  ease,  and  the 
things  which  afforded  ease  before  the  things 
which  were  merely  decorative,  and  the  things 
which  were  decorative  before  the  things  which 
were  ideal.  But  it  is  almost  certain  that  the  use- 
ful as  well  as  the  ornamental  arts  had  humble 
beginnings,  and  oftentimes  accidental  origin. 
Hieroglyphics  were  used  before  letters,  and  let- 
t^rs  were  used  for  thousands  of  years  before  the 
invention  of  printing,  and  printing  was  known 


355 


as  an  art  long  before  its  magic  power  was  fully 
realized.  Little  by  little,  step  by  step,  art  has 
grown  from  the  symbol  of  the  savage  to  the  sig- 
nal of  the  electrician. 

From  feeble  beginnings  and  art  without  a  mas- 
ter, men  advanced  in  knowledge,  paused,  pon- 
dered, plodded — advanced  again,  and  again  went 
on  to  the  mastery — little  by  little,  step  by  step. 
Almost  everything  was  a  mystery  at  first.  With 
superstitious  awe  the  ancients  enclosed  the  spot 
that  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  because  they 
thus  would  mark  the  place  whereon  had  fallen 
the  wrathful  thunderbolt  of  Jove.  Their  solemn 
proceeding  would  appear  very  ridiculous  to  a 
modern  telegraph  operator  whose  hand  is  accus- 
tomed to  dally  with  electricity  as  a  useful  toy. 
Little  by  little,  step  by  step  —  from  the  kite- 
string  of  Franklin  to  the  wire  of  Morse,  and  the 
miracles  of  Edison — little  by  little,  step  by  step, 
science  has  discovered,  and  art  has  utilized  dis- 
covery, until  all  mystery  has  vanished,  and  the 
phenomena  of  nature  demonstrate  with  unerring 
and  mathematical  conclusiveness  the  existence 
of  a  skillful  and  intelligent  Creator.  The  works 


356 


of  art  are  the  works  of  man.  The  works  of  na- 
ture are  the  works  of  God. 

The  study  of  art  is  in  its  infancy.  What  has 
been  done  is  only  an  incentive  to  further  study, 
and  a  proof  of  what  study  can  do. 

When  one  visits  a  zoological  garden,  and  sees 
how  the  brutal  strength  of  the  blood-thirsty  tiger 
and  the  roar  of  the  raging  lion  are  converted 
into  a  mere  amusement  for  the  children  of  civi- 
lized man,  it  seems  a  long  way  back  to  that  pe- 
riod of  humble  intelligence,  on  the  part  of  our 
ancestors,  when  such  stupid  wild  beasts  were  al- 
lowed to  ravage  and  lay  desolate  whole  areas  of 
country  and  fill  their  inhabitants  with  terror. 
Physically,  one  man  is  no  more  able  to  grapple 
with  one  of  these  monsters  now  than  then ;  but  by 
means  of  those  agencies  of  destruction  and  de- 
fense, and  appliances  for  asserting  the  dominion 
of  mind,  which  are  now  employed,  brute  force  is 
rendered  impotent,  and  becomes  even  pitiable  in 
the  relentless  grasp  of  intellectual  power. 

How  haughtily  the  elephant  must  have  sneered 
at  the  first  trap !  How  the  lion  must  have  roared 
at  the  first  cage!  How  the  panther  must  have 


357 


screamed  as  it  beat  the  bars  of  its  first  prison! 
How  the  leviathan  must  have  splurged  and 
spouted  and  lashed  the  bosom  of  the  mighty 
deep  at  the  first  hook! 

Little  by  little,  step  by  step,  men  found  some- 
thing more  to  subdue  than  beasts  of  the  field  and 
monsters  of  the  deep.  There  must  be  shelter 
from  the  storm.  There  must  be  safety  from  the 
flood.  There  must  be  shade  from  the  fiery  rays 
of  the  summer  sun,  and  refuge  from  the  winter's 
frosts.  There  must  be  home,  an  abiding  place 
for  the  family,  where  the  sick  could  be  nursed, 
the  helpless  nurtured,  the  aged  cherished,  and 
the  weary  find  rest.  The  torrent  must  be  re- 
sisted, the  river  must  be  bridged,  and  the  spray- 
fringed  billows  of  the  ocean  must  be  traversed. 
The  brute  strength  of  savage  men,  bent  upon 
conquest  and  destruction,  must  be  met  and  dealt 
with  as  the  brute  strength  of  savage  beasts.  And 
after  peace  had  been  conquered  by  the  superior 
implements  of  warfare  and  the  dauntless  brain  of 
superior  generalship,  the  arts  of  war  must  then 
be  followed  by  the  far  more  philosophical  arts  of 
peace.  There  must  be  agriculture.  There  must 


358 


be  contrivances  for  storing  up  supplies  against 
hunger  and  thirst.  There  must  be  store  houses. 
There  must  be  raiment.  And  when  all  these  are 
provided,  when  there  is  no  longer  dread  of  beast 
or  monster,  or  savage  foe,  or  flood,  or  storm,  or 
hunger  or  cold,  there  must  be  something  to  do, 
there  must  be  something  to  think— there  must 
be  occupation  for  the  brain  and  for  the  hand. 
What  has  been  gained  must  be  preserved  and 
transmitted  to  posterity,  that  they  might  begin 
where  their  fathers  had  left  off,  and  move  for- 
ward in  the  grand  march  of  human  progress  to 
the  music  of  human  ambition  for  a  higher  des- 
tiny. 

It  was  the  mission  of  art  to  rescue  perishable 
things  from  destruction  and  decay,  and  make 
them  endure ;  to  snatch  dying  things  from  death, 
and  make  them  live ;  to  portray  or  carve  out 
beautiful  things  and  make  them  for  monumental 
memories,  fadeless  from  generation  unto  genera- 
tion ;  to  perceive  an  angelic  form  captive  in  a 
block  of  stone,  and  cut  it  out;  to  fasten  some 
fleeting  thought  on  canvas,  that  it  might  dwell 
again  in  other  minds  and  revive  a  sense  of  beau- 


ty  in  other  ages  and  for  eyes  unborn ;  to  create 
some  strong  ideal  resembling  in  its  imaginative 
production  the  inventive  faculties  of  God  him- 
self, and  thereby  realize  that  man  was  indeed 
made  in  the  image  of  his  maker ;  to  inspire  the 
beholder  with  sentiments  of  undying  glory  and 
immortal  fame ;  to  imbue  the  bosoms  of  those 
whose  ephemeral  existence  mocked  their  vain 
longings  for  immortality  with  patient  but  con- 
fiding hope  for  life  beyond  the  grave,  and  impart 
to  the  heart  bowed  down  with  woe  a  tender  con- 
sciousness of  Heavenly  love,  reigning  supreme 
over  and  above  and  beyond  the  sorrows  of  this 
earth. 

Science  may  be  said  to  reside  in  the  brain.  It 
has  its  home  in  mere  intellect.  Art  must  be  the 
offspring  of  brain  and  hand  combined.  One  may 
know  how  a  thing  ought  to  be  done,  and  not 
know  how  to  execute  it.  And  to  approach  the 
perfection  of  art  there  must  be  a  combination  of 
brain,  hand  and  heart.  There  must  be  not  only 
thought,  but  work.  There  must  be  not  only 
work,  but  skill  or  craft.  There  must  be  not  only 
skill,  but  there  must  be  a  feeling,  an  imagination, 


an  earnest  meaning  in  the  work  that  will  bring 
into  exercise  every  power  and  faculty  that  dis- 
tinguishes man  from  the  brute  creation.  Hence 
higher  civilization  has  been  inseparable  from  the 
cultivation  and  supremacy  displayed  in  the  arts, 
which  by  way  of  distinction  are  designated  as 
the  Fine  Arts. 

To  study  the  history  of  art  is  to  study  the  his- 
tory of  civilization,  and  the  history  of  the  human 
race — from  the  foundations  of  the  world. 

No  one  can  fathom  the  sea  of  antiquity.  It  is 
all  conjecture  beyond  a  certain  limit.  But  this 
we  do  know,  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  his- 
tory until  the  arts  of  drawing  and  writing  had 
progressed  sufficiently  to  enable  men  to  preserve 
history.  And  yet  in  that  remote  period  men 
must  have  lived,  and  thought,  and  suffered,  and 
fought  and  struggled,  and  died,  pretty  much  as 
they  do  now. 

There  are  two  generally  approved  definitions 
of  art.  One  looking  to  the  distinction  between 
the  artificial  and  the  natural ;  the  other  looking 
to  the  distinction  between  the  artistic  and  the 
scientific.  For  the  purposes  of  this  address,  the 


361 


word  will  be  used  in  its  widest  sense,  embracing 
in  the  study  of  art  all  that  concerns  the  artisan 
and  the  artist,  and  considering  the  latter  as  only 
a  refinement  upon  the  other.  First  in  order, 
therefore,  let  us  consider  the  art  of  the  mechanic 
— the  man  who  not  only  knows  something,  but 
knows  how  to  do  something,  and  to  do  it  well. 
Science  must  lead  the  way,  but  art  must  blaze 
out  the  path  in  the  march  of  man  through  this 
wilderness  world.  It  should  be  remembered, 
therefore,  that  the  study  of  art,  as  a  whole,  em- 
braces both  meanings — art  as  distinguished  from 
nature,  and  art  as  distinguished  from  science. 

Theodore  Winthrop  says : — 

"  I  reverence  as  much  a  great  mechanic,  in  de- 
gree, perhaps  in  kind,  as  I  do  any  great  seer  into 
the  mysteries  of  nature.  He  is  a  King,  whoever 
can  wield  the  great  forces  where  other  men  have 
not  the  power.  And  none  can  control  material 
forces  without  a  profound  knowledge,  stated  or 
unstated,  of  the  great  masterly  laws  that  order 
every  organism,  from  dust  to  man,  and  a  man- 
freighted  world.  A  great  mechanic  ranks  with 
the  great  chiefs  of  his  time  —  prophets,  poets, 
orators,  statesmen." 


This  tribute  to  the  great  mechanic  is  no  more 
than  just,  and  there  is  due  a  proportionate  share 
of  credit  to  every  man  who  makes  himself  the 
master  of  a  trade.  There  is  nothing  in  manual 
industry  to  dwarf  the  mental  powers.  Benjamin 
Franklin  was  a  printer ;  Andrew  Johnson  was  a 
tailor ;  Peter  Cooper  was  a  cabinet-maker ;  Hugh 
Miller  was  a  stone-mason;  Elihu  Burritt  was  a 
blacksmith. 

And  yet  philosophy,  politics,  philanthropy, 
theology  and  philology  have  produced  no  exam- 
ples more  brilliant  or  more  profound  than  such 
men  as  these — men  who  began  thinking  as  they 
began  working,  at  the  bench,  the  hammer,  the 
anvil  or  the  chisel,  and  studied  as  they  went 
along.  I  mention  these  names  among  thousands 
as  eminent,  because  they  have  lived  in  our  own 
era.  They  are  not  too  far  off  to  be  known. 
There  is  a  disposition  in  this  country  to  under- 
rate the  high  esteem  in  which  the  mechanic 
should  be  held.  It  is  to  him  we  owe  the  safety 
of  our  houses ;  the  vehicles  we  ride  and  travel  in ; 
the  pavements  we  walk  upon;  the  implements 
wherewith  our  food  is  cooked;  the  clothes  we 


363 


wear,  the  table  we  eat  from,  and  the  articles  used 
in  serving  and  taking  our  meals ;  the  beds  we 
sleep  upon ;  and  the  very  roof  over  our  heads. 

To  him  we  owe  every  comfort,  from  the  knife 
and  fork  to  the  grand  piano ;  to  him  we  owe 
every  improvement  in  the  useful  things  which 
have  lifted  men  from  the  condition  of  cave- 
dwellers,  to  be  inmates  of  the  palace.  To  him  we 
owe  the  conveniences  which  make  a  modern  cot- 
tage far  more  habitable  than  the  ancient  castle. 
To  him  we  owe  the  steam  engine ;  the  railway 
car ;  the  printing  and  the  binding  of  our  books ; 
the  instruments  with  which  the  surgeon  saves  a 
life,  and  the  light-house  that  warns  the  sailor  from 
shipwreck. 

The  mechanic  who  conscientiously  studies  the 
art  of  his  handicraft,  abstains  from  vice,  practices 
industry,  and  cultivates  his  mind  while  resting 
his  body,  is  a  grander  example  for  either  prince 
or  peasant  than  the  greatest  nobleman  who  ever 
inherited  estates  which  the  toil  of  some  other  man 
had  earned,  or  which  the  greed  or  cunning  of 
some  other  man  had  accumulated.  Give  me  the 
man  who  has  the  health,  the  manhood,  and  the 


364 


honesty  to  earn  his  own  living  by  being  of  use  to 
society,  and  I  will  wear  him  in  my  heart  as 
one  of  the  jewels  of  its  affections,  in  prefer- 
ence to  the  most  scientific  idler  who  ever  hired  a 
substitute  to  rob  the  wool  from  the  sheep's  back. 
It  is  a  grand  thing  to  be  useful  to  others — to  be 
a  benefactor.  The  mechanic  is  a  benefactor.  It 
rather  improves  him  to  be  a  student  as  well. 

It  is  a  curious  fact,  that  the  most  successful 
contrivances  of  art  have  been  perfected  by  imi- 
tations of  the  mechanisms  of  nature.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  instrument  used  by  the  photo- 
grapher. It  is  constructed  as  much  as  possible 
after  the  fashion  of  the  natural  eye  of  animals. 

The  duck  furnishes  the  best  model  for  a  ship 
or  boat.  It  is  the  opinion  of  scientists,  that  the 
machine  of  the  future  for  navigating  the  air  must 
be  discovered  by  a  still  closer  study  of  the 
structure  of  the  wing  of  the  wild  fowl. 

Wherever  nature  has  solved  a  mechanical  prob- 
lem by  a  joint,  a  tendon,  a  pulley,  a  lens,  a  valve, 
or  a  movement,  no  human  ingenuity  has  been 
able  to  achieve  more  than  a  successful  imitation — 
and  the  contriving  mind  of  the  inventor  realizes 


at  every  step  that  a  far  more  ingenious  contriv- 
ing mind  has  studied  the  subject  before  him,  upon 
a  much  grander  scale,  and  embracing  a  widely 
more  general  application.  The  daintiest  joints 
and  wings  of  the  insect  afford  evidences  of  plan, 
fitness,  harmony,  utility — the  adaptation  of  means 
to  an  end — in  a  word,  mechanical  skill.  And  yet 
revolving  planets  and  solar  systems  sweep  with 
majestic  regularity,  order  and  precision,  through 
the  yawning  realms  of  infinite  and  unfathomable 
space,  guided  with  inexorable  precision  by  the 
same  Almighty  hand — directed  by  the  same  Al- 
mighty mind. 

In  our  own  beloved  country  the  mechanic  is 
accorded  the  highest  honors,  and  so  far  from  be- 
ing a  drawback  to  preferment,  to  have  been  a  me- 
chanic is  the  surest  road  to  wealth  and  distinction. 
The  bank  presidents  and  railroad  kings,  and 
mining  magnates,  and  solid  corporation  directors, 
generally  begin  as  plain,  humble,  honest,  careful 
mechanics.  Little  by  little,  step  by  step,  they  buy 
up  the  stock  and  own  the  mill,  the  factory,  the 
foundry,  the  railroad,  the  bridge,  and  the  bank. 
It  is  a  short  step  then  to  the  chair  of  the  governor, 
a  senator,  or  a  president. 


They  can  hire  lawyers  and  doctors,  and  editors, 
and  preachers,  and  all  sorts  of  college  and  uni- 
versity graduates  to  work  for  them.  No  country 
is  so  deeply  indebted  to  its  mechanics  as  the 
United  States  of  America.  In  less  than  one  hun- 
dred years  of  constitutional  government,  the  me- 
chanics of  this  country  have  done  more  to  build  it 
up  and  make  it  known  abroad,  and  make  it  rich 
and  comfortable  at  home, .  than  all  the  soldiers 
and  sailors,  and  writers  and  doctors,  and  editors 
and  soft-handed  tourists  put  together.  The  world 
owes  to  the  American  mechanic  the  cotton  gin ; 
the  planing  machine  ;  the  corn  planter ;  the  grain 
mower  and  reaper  ;  the  rotary  printing  press  ;  the 
navigation  of  water  by  steam ;  the  hot  air  engine; 
the  sewing  machine  ;  the  India  rubber  industry  ; 
the  machine  for  the  manufacture  of  horse  shoes  ; 
the  sand  blast  for  carving ;  the  gauge  lathe ;  the 
grain  elevator ;  the  machine  for  manufacturing 
ice  on  a  large  scale;  the  sleeping  car  for  rail- 
ways ;  the  electric  magnet ;  the  telephone,  and 
the  electric  light. 

The  mechanics  of  this  country  read  and  think, 
and  keep  up  with  the  times.  Their  genius  for 


367 


practical  utility  is  the  wonder  of  the  whole  world. 
They  are  no  mopers  and  dreamers,  but  downright 
workers,  and  they  study  mechanical  art  to  such 
direct  purpose,  that  through  their  industry  and 
their  inventions  they  have  become  the  practical 
redeemers  of  the  heathen  and  the  teachers  of  all 
mankind.  The  ship  of  the  merchant  carries  the 
missionary  of  the  cross,  and  the  pictures  of  civili- 
zation. The  sailor  and  the  manufacturer  are  the 
pioneer  teachers  of  all  the  world,  and  the  exten- 
sion of  commerce  means  the  diffusion  of  light  and 
knowledge  wherever  the  trader  may  go. 

Let  us  now  take  a  glance  at  that  division  of  our 
subject  which  relates  to  the  study  of  art  in  its 
more  refined  and  ornamental  signification.  We 
are  so  accustomed  to  the  comforts  of  life,  which 
are  due  to  the  study  of  mechanical  art,  that  we 
long  for  something  more.  When  the  immediate 
wants  of  existence  are  supplied,  we  begin  to 
suffer  for  imaginary  necessities.  The  soul  must 
have  food  as  well  as  the  body.  The  disposition 
must  be  assuaged,  or  else  melancholy  and  gloom 
will  settle  down  like  spectres  at  the  bounteous 
board,  and  mar  the  appetite  for  life. 


368 


Pictures  and  statues  make  us  dwell  in  the 
future  and  in  the  past,  and  thus  prolong  existence. 
They  make  us  conscious  of  infinite  duration,  and 
thus  we  realize  that  the  soul  within  us  is  im- 
mortal. 

The  study  of  fine  arts,  as  they  are  called  by 
way  of  distinction,  leads  us  up  and  up,  little  by 
little,  step  by  step,  until  we  stand  in  view  of  the 
sublime,  the  beautiful,  the  infinite,  the  everlast- 
ing. The  use  of  light  and  shade,  of  lines  and 
colors,  of  form  and  proportion,  in  order  to  impart 
impressions  and  feelings,  rather  than  distinct 
ideas,  may  be  called  the  instrumentalities  of  art. 
But  they  are  not  art  itself.  Art  is  the  force  be- 
hind them.  True  art  combines  the  energy  of  in- 
vention with  the  skill  which  discerns  beauty  as 
in  a  bright  vision,  and  transfixes  it  to  canvas,  or 
carves  it  out  of  stone  so  faithfully,  that  others 
may  find  the  soul  of  which  that  beauty  was  born 
by  gazing  upon  the  external  form.  The  copying 
of  form  is  only  the  foundation  of  real  art.  Carv- 
ing preceded  drawing  ;  sculpture  preceded  paint- 
ing. The  first  artists  dealt  with  images  of  forms. 
Then  followed  successive  advances  from  images 


to  ideas,  and  art  became  ideal  rather  than  formal. 
Thenceforward  art  signified  the  material  expres- 
sion, not  only  of  thought,  but  of  emotion.  Archi- 
tecture, the  grandest  of  all  arts,  because  it  em- 
braces and  finds  room  for  all,  stimulated  the 
sculptor  and  the  painter  to  nobler  and  loftier  de- 
signs. The  genius  of  man  laid  hold  upon  the 
solid  ro-ck,  making  a  marble  Yenus  almost 
breathe  with  passion ;  a  marble  Milo  almost  roar 
with  pain ;  a  marble  Laocoon  almost  melt  with 
agony  and  despair. 

Whether  architecture  grew  from  the  mound  to 
the  pyramid  ;  from  the  pyramid  to  the  temple  ; 
from  the  temple  to  the  palace  in  India,  or  Arabia, 
or  Assyria,  or  Egypt,  must  ever  remain  in  dis- 
pute. But  certain  it  is  that  it  grew,  and  that  it 
grew  by  small  degrees. 

Cadmus  is  said  to  have  carried  letters  into 
Greece  about  the  year  1400  before  the  Christian 
era. 

That  older  civilizations  found  means  to  pre- 
serve written  history  before  that,  there  is  abun- 
dant evidence. 

But  the  most  we  can  gather  from  such  remote 


370 


antiquity  becomes  of  secondary  importance  to 
the  student  of  art.  It  is  a  labor  ending  in  the 
gratification  of  mere  curiosity.  It  is  enough  for 
practical  purposes  to  know  that  little  by  little, 
step  by  step,  art  grew  from  the  pottery  of  the 
mound  builders  to  the  obelisks  of  Egypt,  the  as 
yet  unequalled  statues  of  Greece,  and  the  awe- 
inspiring  frescoes  of  Rome — "  the  eternal  city 
that  sat  upon  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her 
throne  of  beauty  ruled  the  world." 

Whenever  a  nation  grew  strong  and  warlike, 
and  pushed  its  conquests  into  the  territory  of 
older  and  richer  countries,  the  spoils  that  were 
always  carried  away  with  the  greatest  zeal  were 
the  celebrated  works  of  art.  Out  of  the  cruel- 
ties and  hardships  of  war  humanity  found  at 
least  this  consolation,  that  the  arts  and  refine- 
ments of  the  conquered  people  achieved  a  sort 
of  victory  over  the  conquerors. 

Religious  fervor  imbued  its  devotees  with  cer- 
tain tastes  and  inspirations  that  gave  tone  to  the 
style  of  architecture,  and  of  sculpture  and  paint- 
ing, which  prevailed  among  the  various  peoples 
of  the  earth,  and  the  philosophy  of  art  became 


371 


tinged  everywhere  by  the  customs,  habits  and 
religious  beliefs  of  the  peculiar  people  from 
whom  the  artists  had  their  origin. 

The  learning  and  the  arts  of  the  East  and  of 
Egypt  went  to  Greece,  from  Greece  to  Home,  from 
Rome  to  Western  Europe,  and  from  Western 
Europe  to  America — the  land  reserved  by  Heaven 
to  be  the  last  and  best  home  of  the  arts,  as  it  is 
the  last  and  best  home  of  philosophy,  learning, 
science  and  civil  government,  founded  upon  prin- 
ciples of  constitutional  liberty.  There  never  has 
existed  a  time  or  a  place  in  the  history  of  the 
world  so  auspicious  for  the  student  of  art  as  this 
country  at  the  present  time. 

Men  are  amassing  fortunes ;  the  National  and 
State  governments  are  erecting  great  public 
buildings ;  education  is  cherished  as  the  pearl 
of  great  price ;  refined  taste  is  cultivated  at 
home,  and  enriched  by  swift  and  luxurious  trips 
around  the  world;  the  arts  of  engraving  and 
photography  have  made  those  who  have  never 
traveled  familiar  with  all  the  most  admired  and 
celebrated  works  of  art  in  every  part  of  the 
world ;  and  there  is  no  reason  why  the  American 


372 


architect,  the  American  engineer,  and  the  Ameri- 
can artist  should  not  achieve,  as  well  as  the 
American  mechanic,  the  highest  honors  which 
the  world  can  lavish  upon  genius.  The  time  is 
at  hand  when  these  things  must  follow  as  a 
natural  sequence  of  the  wonderful  progress  our 
country  has  made  in  every  field  of  intellectual 
development  and  material  resources. 

When  Phidias,  the  greatest  of  the  Greek  sculp- 
tors, had  completed  his  masterpiece,  a  statue  of 
Athena,  which  was  massively  inlaid  with  ivory 
and  gold  furnished  by  the  State,  he  was  falsely 
accused  of  having  appropriated  some  of  the  ex- 
pensive materials  to  his  own  use.  In  order  to 
refute  his  accusers,  he  asked  that  the  costly  ma- 
terial be  taken  from  the  statue  and  weighed. 
This  they  refused  to  do,  and  yet,  actuated  by 
political  animosity  towards  Pericles,  who  was 
the  friend  and  patron  of  Phidias,  they  caused 
him  to  be  cast  into  prison,  where,  stung  to  death 
by  their  ingratitude,  he  languished  and  died. 

The  genius  of  Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti 
was  fettered  by  political  persecution  the  better 
portion  of  his  life  ;  and  the  personal  biography 


373 


of  nearly  every  great  artist  discloses  a  story  of 
patient  apprenticeship,  terrible  labors,  mortify- 
ing neglect,  the  envy  of  rivals,  and  the  harsh 
injustice  of  critics.  And  yet  there  is  such  a 
fascination  in  the  study  of  the  fine  arts,  that  the 
sorrows  and  vicissitudes  of  the  artist's  life  have 
been  borne  with  the  heroic  fortitude  and  resigna- 
tion of  martyrdom  itself.  The  true  student  of 
art  has  incessant  occupation,  infinite  sources  of 
thought,  grand  day  dreams,  endless  invention, 
exquisite  accuracy ;  and  when  fame  and  fortune 
do  smile,  there  is  such  a  triumphant  looking  for- 
ward to  future  renown,  that  ambition  for  un- 
dying glory  nerves  the  trembling  hand,  thrills 
the  swelling  vein,  and  assuages  the  throbbing 
heart.  Science  consists  in  knowing,  but  art  con- 
sists in  doing.  And  whoever  has  the  wisdom  to 
learn,  the  capacity  to  understand,  the  invention 
to  design,  the  art  to  execute,  and  the  patience  to 
labor,  will  realize  that  in  the  study  of  art  there 
are  fountains  of  more  unfailing  joy  than  in  any 
pursuit  which  can  engage  the  faculties  and  stim- 
ulate the  energies  of  man. 
The  cultivation  of  taste  for  the  fine  arts  has 


374 


lately  received  a  powerful  impetus  in  our  own 
State,  by  the  dedication  to  public  use  of  a  mag- 
nificent building,  a  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  by  Mr. 
Wayman  Crow,  at  St.  Louis.  There  will  be 
gathered  the  art  treasures  which  are  to  embellish 
and  characterize  our  civilization.  There  the  stu- 
dent of  art  will  find  the  masterpieces  of  great 
artists ;  and  let  us  hope  that  its  enduring  walls 
will  be  enriched  by  gems  of  beauty  that  slumber 
now  within  the  soul  of  some  Missouri  boy,  as  yet 
"  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown." 


375 


YOUTH. 

There  are  gains  for  all  our  losses, 

There  are  balms  for  all  our  pain  ; 
But  when  youth — the  dream — departs, 
It  takes  something  from  our  hearts, 
And  it  never  comes  again. 

We  are  stronger,  we  are  better, 

Under  manhood's  sterner  reign ; 
Still  we  feel  that  something  sweet 
Followed  youth,  with  flying  feet, 
And  can  never  come  again. 

Something  beautiful  is  vanished, 

And  we  sigh  for  it  in  vain : 
We  seek  it  everywhere — 
On  the  earth  and  in  the  air- 
But  it  never  comes  again. 

June  5,  1878. 


376 


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